The Darkness {WIP}

The darkness fell once again outside my window. It swallowed the sun, seemingly almost whole. Night enveloped not just the day, but my mind as well. With night, came the darkness that crept through my heart, my spirit, my mind. It lurked; it stalked; it moved with the stealth of a lion stalking its prey on the prairie. It moved silently, quickly, ever present, ever closer. Then it suddenly springs, chasing, closing in on its prey until it has it caught between its jaws, pinned beneathe its massive haunches, lost to its hunger. It was always like this - this darkness that crept into me each night. With night came the clarity of my being and with it, my hunger for the darker side of life. And it was this hunger that I struggled with, fought with, wrestled with. I didn't know what to do with it. Should I embrace it, hold it to my breast and welcome it? Should I yield to its offering and succomb to the pain and pleasure it promised? Should I race away from it, attempt to outrun it, chance to escape it? I didn't know, so, I sat each night frozen, but not in fear. I sat, instead, frozen from indecision.

Tonight, I watched as again, the darkness swept in and I fought with the inner urge to just shut the drapes and pretend it was still day. If it was still day, then I wouldn't have to face this side of me who wanted more, right? Lately, the hunger had grown darker. It craved more than the usual petty offerings I had allowed it. No longer would the indulgences I had allowed myself suffice, and I knew this. It scared me. It scared me more than I cared to admit to anyone. Not many knew this side to me, and those who did either embraced it or dismissed it. There was no in between. It was something I either hid or openly displayed. I either trusted you to know, or you simply had no clue. Most simply fell into the latter category. For those who were allowed to see the dark side of me, most simply saw a shallow, dark pool. Not many saw the depth of the darkness that existed there. Sure, I could walk the walk. All of us could. But I think, if push came to shove, the sheer want and need of the darkness within me would frighten not just me, but those who saw it as well. Maybe that is why I kept it locked away.

What I did know is that it grew within me. It got larger and darker with each passing day. It fed off of my own desires, my own needs, my own fantasies. With each passing moment, with each passing day, I found the darkness closing in tighter around me. What once frightened me, no longer seemed as ominous. What once seemed appalling, now seemed appealing. It was a viscious circle of wants and needs ever combining and circling until I could no longer tell one from another anymore. All I did know is that I needed to find an out, a means of satisfying this hunger. I needed to trust someone to feed it, or it would consume me.

I knew enough of myself to recognize that I was leaning towards recklessness. Recklessness equates to dangerous. It clouds my judgement. It impairs my thinking. It makes my desires foremost, my thought process secondary. I could not have that. Not now. Not ever. Yet, here I sat. Indecisive again in how to procede. My mind perused the long list of lovers I have had, dismissing one after another as too tame, too docile to satisfy the cravings I was having. I lingered on a few others, logging their identities as possibilities to come back to reconsider. Tonight, that would be enough.

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The rising sun brought little to no comfort. I had slept little the night before. What little I had slept had been restless, plagued with images of my fantasies, my desires. Several times I had awakened bathed in a shean of light sweat, breathless from the images passing through my imagination. Even in sleep, the darkness stalked me. I knew I needed to find my release soon or the recklessness would take over. And recklessness was ill fated.

So my thoughts returned to the short list of lovers I had compiled the night before. Slowly I lingered over each one, thinking of each and his short comings and strenths. It wasn't very long before I had dismissed two more, narrowing the list even further to just two. Two who MIGHT be able to step up to the proverbial plate and satisfy my hunger for darkness. One I knew would happily oblige. The other? He might need some cajoling. It had been some time since I had been with either one, so I needed to contact them and renew the relationships. Test the waters, so to speak.

I tugged out my address book. It was a dark brown leather, worn and tattered with age. I had had it forever, or so it seemed. Within it, I had addresses and phone numbers dating back to high school. It chronicled my life, the phases I had passed through over the years. My fingers traced the various names, the multides of ink and handwriting over the pages as I slowly and lovingly turned the pages. It was always like this when I opened this book. I knew exactly which sections, which pages I would find the information I was looking for now, but I felt compelled to view the others. It was like browsing through a photo album. Memories tucked away. Simple names and numbers which triggered memories in my mind. As my fingers traced over them, my mind pulled them up, almost like a book from a library catalog - recalling features, events, voices, smells. I smiled as my fingers slid over Jack Niles of Westerville, PA. He was my first....

He was dark, but not in spiritual sense. He was always kind, always sensitive. An artist. The broading sort. I smiled in remembrance. He was always concerned about "love" in the romantic sense. I suppose, in my youthful exuberance, that is why he was my first. We all, as women believe wholeheartedly in the fairy tale kind of love. He represented that in so many ways. My fingers move on, and with it, the memory of him fades.

It comes to rest on another, one of the ones I have come here to find. He is dark. He is the one who will need no coaxing. He is the one I think will fulfil this growing, aching need. Again, my eyes close as I see him. He looms large before me. I always felt small with him, almost petite. He was not huge, not by a long shot, but his persona always dwarfed mine. It always made me submit. It was one reason I left him. He asked for more than I was willing to give. His taste for the dark never suited mine, and so I ran, quite literally, a lot of the time. Eventually, we parted - a mutual decision. Neither of us met the other's desires. I hoped, desperately now, that he was available and willing to show me what I ran from all that time ago. I copied his information down and continued to turn the pages.

So it went, me turning physical pages and my mind perusing the memories of the names my fingers brushed over. Finally, I reached the second name. My fingers slid over the name, penned not in blue or black like the others, but in green. He was always different. My memory walked this time. Slowly. It always did. How many times did I circle back to this one? Five? Ten? Dozens? I had lost count over the years. Here I was again, returning to this blond, blue eyed man yet again. He would need to be coaxed, I thought. Coaxed to bring me the pain I saught. I fought those memories of him. I didn't allow them to surface. They were bitterly sweet. All I allowed myself to think as I jotted his information down, information I realized suddenly I could recall with absolute clarity, was I would contact him last.

I slid the paper with their information inside of the composition book I kept beside the telephone for notes, and I gathered my things for the day. I placed them by the crisp white door, and turned back to my bedroom. I paused in the entranceway to my bedroom and thought sullenly, "This used to be my safehaven - where I came to escape these feelings." I studied the carefully decorated space. The terracotta walls and dark green earthy accents no longer offered the tranquility it once did. Fleetingly I thought a new paint job might, and then I dismissed it. I knew what would offer the peace, and it wasn't paint.

I walked into my bathroom, and shed my robe. I hung it on the hook and stepped into the walk in shower. I adjusted the water and quickly prepared my body for the blast of cold water. I gasped anyway as the spray hit my shoulders first and then cascaded down over my arms and breasts. The water quickly warmed to hot, and I washed quickly. I prepared for the day after and headed off to work hoping to forget the remnants of the dreams lingering in my mind.

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It was dark. Again. And with the loss of sunlight, the rising anxiety over night rose in my stomach. It fluttered and twittered as I fingered the paper with the names of the men I had decided to entrust. The phone sat in my lap, but I hadn't dialed either one of them yet. Just how do you ask someone to slake your desire for pain? Just how do you ask someone to come back into your life to slake a thirst you don't understand, that you can't explain? I didn't know, so I hesitated.

I looked up and out into the night. The darkness called to me. It wanted me. It promised me so many things, but it whispered I needed a partner first. With a sigh I picked up the paper and glanced at the paper. Jeff was first on the list. He would need less cajoling. He understood the dark side of sex. He thrived on it. I knew he would jump at the chance. I reached for the phone.

My fingers slowly, softly dialed each number. I caressed each digit the way I would a lover's face. At long last, I dialed the last number, and I waited as the phone began to ring on the other end of the line. Once, twice, three times, four times. The phone continued to ring. I was just about to hang up when I heard his voice, "Hello?"

I faltered, almost dropped the cordless phone in my hand. My heart hammered in my chest as I took a long, deep, shuddering breath - a breath I was certain he heard on the other end of the line. "Jeff?"

"Stephanie?" he asked.

I smiled automatically and relaxed slightly. "Yeah. How are you?" I asked.

"Been good. How are you? Been ages since we talked. Where've you been?"

"Around. You know, busy with life. Stuff. You?" I was desperate. I could hear it in my voice. I hoped he couldn't.

"Well, you know me. Always into something." He laughed that wicked evil laugh that always indicated he had been up to something irrevocably wicked. "Things have been good. What has you ringing me after all this time anyways?"

Leave it to Jeff. He could always cut to the chase in justa few words or seconds. "Was wondering what you were doing Friday night."

"Not to much. What did you have in mind? Dinner? You?" He said it jokingly, but topped it with that laugh. I shivered in response.

"Me, dinner. Both, definately. Bring your bag." I answered, choosing to ignore the pointed laugh.

"The overnight bag or THE bag?" he asked. He knew in the past, THE bag scared the hell out of me. It contained all of his accoutraments, the ones that just the sight of would make my heart pound in fear.

I swallowed hard and inhaled deeply, audibly. He stiffled a chuckle. He knew. I didn't respond. "Well?" He asked again. He was forcing me to say it. Step one, right?

"Yes, bring THE bag." I said.

"Was that so hard, Stephanie?" he asked.

"No." I answered although I knew it was. It was what I wanted, but why did it not feel...right?

"See you Friday!" he said and hung up. I was left holding onto a dead line. My heart thundered in my chest.

The night whispered....seemed to mock me. It knew I had chosen, made a step. It seemed to know I'd made the choice to proceed. I wondered if it would allow me to sleep. I replaced the phone in its cradle and placed the paper back in the notebook. I rose and headed off to bed. I crawled, naked, under the covers. Exhausted, I fell quickly to sleep.


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The sheets and the blanket twisted around my waist effectively pinning me to the bed. In my mind they were restraints. My fingers slid around the slats of the headboard, gripping them tightly as my breath caught in my throat. My eyes fluttered against the silken fabric that lay over them and my lips worked wordlessly against the fabric stuffed in my mouth. I was gagged, blindfolded, restrained. I shifted my legs and the tightening around my ankles confirmed what I already knew in my heart, those too, were tightly bound to the bedposts just as my wrists were. My heart raced as I sensed the figure above me. I could smell his scent, his arousal as he moved around the bed. It was manly, fresh, as if he had showered recently. He didn't speak. He didn't touch me. He simply hovered. I felt him. I knew he was there. I felt him there, knew he watched me. Every nerve in my body prickled, responded to him. Every hair follicle responded. I shifted, inhaling sharply, shifting against the restraints again. I whimpered against the fabric in my dry mouth. I heard him shuffle around me once again and then there was stone, cold silence.

The bleet of the alarm on the nightstand startled me from the the dream. I awoke, my muscles stiff, my knuckles white from gripping the head board. I smacked roughly at the snooze bar and glared at the clock. I had slept. But I had dreamed again. The same dream for the last two nights. I never saw his face. I only knew I couldn't respond to him. He'd made sure of that. Sighing, I roled from the tangled bed coverings and padded across the room to my bathroom and readied my shower.

My fingers trailed down my stomach as I listened to the water pound against the tiles, and I let my eyes slip shut. I knew as my hands traveled lower and dipped between my thighs that I'd already be aroused and wet. The mere thought of being tied, helpless, unable to respond was enough to send more than just a tingle of response coursing down my spine. I sighed. I had tried yesterday and the day before to relieve that tension. It wasn't possible. I hungered for something more, something bordering on the edge of insanity. Something I couldn't bring myself. So I would have to wait. Dinner tonite and Jeff - I promised myself. There would be no running from him tonite. Not this time.

As I lathered up the soap and showered, I thought of the many times before when Jeff had pushed for the very thing I was going to ask him for tonite. I had always been skittish. I'd run on more than one occassion, quite literally. I had once gathered my things and left his apartment half dressed in my rush to escape him, dressing as I descended the stairs to my car. He scared me. And at that point, all he'd wanted to do was some minor bondage and a flogger. I chuckled softly as I raked my nails roughly over my thigh leaving a definate line of scratches in their wake. No, tonite, there would be no running.


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I sat on the overstuffed denim sofa, my legs curled under me and stared blindly out the window. It was 5:30 and dinner was simmering on the stove. The scent of garlic, olive oil and onion wafted through the apartment. It soothed my nerves - cooking, that it. It was a hobby I loved, but rarely utilized since I lived alone. Tonight, I had gone a little overboard, but I had needed to do it, and I had prepared a chicken scampi that had surpassed even my expectations. I smiled, proud of my skills. I watched as the daylight slowly slipped away outside my window, and I rose slowly from my position on the couch.

I slipped into my bedroom and began my preparations for the night. I stood at my lingerie chest, thinking to myself. My mind reached into the archives, thinking of Jeff's personal tastes. I sifted through the lingerie removing a light, lacie green thong and matching bra. Neither offered much coverage or support, but that was his taste and the entire point of their existance. My fingers slide over the soft lace and my eyes close as I imagine the feel of the fabric on my soft skin. I sigh, and then turn towards the bathroom.

Here I strip, and turn not to the shower, but to the deep garden tub. I turn the water on and let it heat to almost a point of scalding, then block it so it will fill. I walk to the various salts and oils and, again, attempt to recall his favorite scents. I can't. So I select apricot and add it to the water. I sink into the water and lean back, sighing, attempting to relax. Eventually, I bathe. And with it, prepare by shaving, baring skin completely. I step from the tub and towel off.

I walk and dress, putting on the lingerie I have chosen. I add a low cut, teal blouse which reveals the ample cleavage the bra enhances. A short, flared tan skirt slides up and over my hips. Neither is a favorite, but they complement my figure well. I begin to primp and play with my hair, and then decide to simply brush it out and let it lay over my shoulders. I return to the kitchen with a glance at the window. My eyes confirm what my body already knows. Darkness has fallen.

I finish up a few things with dinner. Wine is uncorked, and the table is set. I put the water for the pasta on to boil. Just as I began to prepare the salad, the bell to the door sounded. The knife I had in my hand slipped from my fingers as my heart suddenly leaped to my throat. It slid and fell to the floor as I jumped from its path. I was still barefoot, and I swore under my breath as I bent to retrieve the knife. I set it on the counter, and turned and headed to the door. Flipping the lock, I took a deep breath, and turned the handle. I opened the door and lifted my head. I had to look up. I was five foot five inches tall. He was six foot four inches. I had no choice in the matter.

My green eyes met his brown eyes, and he smiled lazily. I was frozen. "Well?" He asked. I stepped back, and he unceremoniously handed me the bag he was holding and stepped into my apartment, glancing around. "Dinner smells good." he said, as he leaned down and kissed me on my cheek. It was if no time at all had passed between our last meeting for him. Shaking my head slightly I thanked him and settled his things on the settee by the door.

"Make yourself at home. I am finishing dinner." I said as I headed back into my kitchen. I was washing the knife when he wandered into the kitchen. I dropped the knife in the sink. Suddenly, he was standing behind me. He reached around me with both arms, and his hand closed around the knife and picked it up. His mouth lowered to just behind my ear.

"Have I made you this nervous already?" he asked. Suddenly, I was angry, and I turned. I was trapped between the counter and him, but it didn't matter. I stared up into his brown eyes, defiance clearly sparking in mine. I opened my mouth to speak, and just as I did, I felt his arm close around my waist and drag me against him. His mouth lowered to mine. The cold steel of the blade of the knife rested along my spine, and I shivered as his lips coaxed mine open, silencing my words. My hands settled against his chest, my fingers splayed open as I leaned against him. My heart shifted to my throat. I was acutely aware of the knife against my back and also keenly aware of the tingling along my spine that that knowledge caused. He drew back from the kiss, and my breath caught in my throat. "Maybe I should cut up whatever it is that needs to be cut," he said with that evil, wicked laugh lingering in his voice. I merely nodded in response.

He prepared the salad while I finished the scampi and pasta. And I, well, I tried to maintain composure. While I plated up the food, he rearranged the table. I could hear him moving things around, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw when I left the kitchen carrying the plates of food. He had moved the chairs so they were no longer across from each other. They now sat beside each other. In fact, when I sat, our knees would surely be touching. Guaranteed contact for the entire meal. Inwardly, I groaned. But, I set the plates down, and smiled at him. He glanced from the food to me, and then reached for my arm. With a firm tug, he had pulled me into his lap.


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I squirmed to no avail. He had me firmly in his grasp. My head turned to face him, and his brown eyes met mine and held them. They spoke volumes without his voice uttering a word. They questioned my intentions tonight. They told me his. He had no intent to let me run. My green eyes answered. They were fearful, yes, but they were also full of resolve. I could feel his body tense beneathe mine in response. I felt the tension grow, slowly. Dinner was not his focus. I was. But, I also knew he would eat because I had taken the time to prepare the meal. Because he knew that I also needed the mental time to adjust to his presence. He relaxed his hold on my waist and released my wrist, confident that I wouldn't jump from his lap and run. His hand slid up my side, snaking along my shoulder to my neck, lingering at where my pulse quickened, and he smiled slowly. He was pleased.

He applied a gentle pressure to my neck, and I lowered my head, bringing my lips to his. And he tasted them. He slowly brushed his lips against mine, and I responded in turn. My arms raised to slide around his neck, and I curled into his body as the kiss deepened. Dinner was briefly forgotten as his tongue dipped and plundered. His hands slid and explored, relearned each curve along my body. I gasped and shifted, my body arching into his fingers. I had forgotten how even his slightest touch could elicit this kind of aching response from me. His lips withdrew from mine, and I whimpered in protest as his fingers plied the hardened nubs through the light fabric separating breasts and his hands. He shook his head as his hand fell away too. His fingers lifted my lowered chin, bringing my hazy green eyes to his. I inhaled, trying to catch my breath, and raised my eyes to his. They were darker now. He smiled. Then, he lifted me easily and settled me into my chair.

We ate dinner, chatting about the things we had each been up to in our lives. Other than the sexual differences, we had been easy friends. We caught up, and the wine flowed. Dinner was excellent. And soon, the plates were empty. But still, we continued to talk. Work was going well for us both. I slid my chair back, still discussing the antics of one of my coworkers and gathered the plates. He did the same, gathering the silver and glasses. Together, we returned to the kitchen and did the dishes. Before long, the dishes were done, and he leaned against the counter, and looked at me.

"Stephanie? Are you sure about this? I am not going to let you run this time." he announced.

I tilted my head, the long strawberry blonde hair falling down my shoulders, and looked at him. I studied him a few moments and for a few moments fought that urge to run. But that hunger deep within won, and finally, I spoke, "I'm not running this time, Jeff."

With that, he crossed the span between us and stopped barely an inch in front of me. Once again, I was forced to look up at him. As my gaze connected with his, I knew he would be brutal. That little voice inside once again cried out, "Not right!" but I stiffled it, desperate to feed the hunger that had been stalking me for weeks now. My breath caught in my throat as his hand rose and fisted in the hair along the back of my head. He pushed me down to my knees, yanking my head back. My face was level to his waist, and I looked beyond that to his face, and I could see the darkness.

"You will do as I say tonite. No questions. No arguements. Understood?" he commanded.

"Yes, Sir." I responded. This was not an unfamiliar game to me. Not with him. I'd been here before. Several times. This was never what frightened me. It was what came later. Always what came later. This was just the warm up. I felt my body prickle with excitement, that special warmth of sexual excitement as I licked my lips seductively.

He stepped closer still, pressing his thigh against my raised face. I nuzzled my cheek along the fly to his zipper. My warm breath blew through the denim of his jeans. I fought the smile on my lips as I felt his body respond. I closed my eyes as his hold in my hair relaxed slightly and raised my hands to slide upwards along his thighs. I pressed my palms, fingers outstretched, over them, careful not to touch any other part of him. My breath still warm against his crotch. Then curling my fingers, my nails pressing hard into his thighs, I drag them down. I feel his muscles tense in response.

He grip tightened in my hair as he tugged roughly. I half whimpered, half moaned as he dragged me up his body to my feet. I rose begrudgingly and leaned against him for support. His hand dragged my head back, exposing my throat, and he lowered his mouth to feast there. His lips danced and teased along my neck, tracing where my pulse now raced. I gasped and trembled in response. His lips slid upwards, pausing just below my ear where he growled ever so softly. My whole body, my being responded, arched into him. His hand fell from my hair and slid to my waist. Without warning, I was lifted and carried from the kitchen.

He carried me directly to my room and layed me on the bed. He stood over me, and I stared up at him, wide-eyed with my heart in my throat. He studied me for a few moments and then turned and took in the room. His eyes settled on the overstuffed chair in the corner next to the window. He crossed to it, and I turned to watch him walk there. I studied the way his muscles moved and shifted under his shirt, his jeans. I smiled as he turned and sat, kicked his feet up on the footstool and made himself at home. He smiled at me, long, slow and lazy. "Where is my bag?"

"In the hallway." I answered.

"In the hallway, what?" he asked.

I faltered, but only for a moment. "In the hallway, Sir." I replied back. I pushed myself up from the bed and walked out to the foyer and retrieved the bag. I locked the door. Carrying the heavy bag, it shifted and I could hear the clink of metal against metal in the bag. A shiver went down my spine. I entered my room and turned to him. I walked to him, and stopped in front of the footstool and dropped the bag at his feet. "Your bag, Sir."

He held out his hand. I picked the bag up and placed the strap in his hand. "Good girl. Now, is this how a good girl presents herself?" he asked.

Suddenly, I stilled. I glanced to the open window. The lights in the room were all on. My neighbors across the street would have a clear view of anything that happened. I could see them seated on their sofa watching television. My eyes flickered to the street below. Passing cars would be able to see me as well. My gaze traveled back to Jeff. "Everything stays as it is, Stephanie." he ordered. "I'm waiting, and I do not like to wait."

I began with the skirt. My fingers slid and fumbled with the zipper. It slid and I worked the skirt down over my hips. With a slight wiggle the fabric fell to the floor revealing the sheer light green lacie thong. I began to unbutton the blouse, bottom to the top. Slowly, I rocked, one foot to the other, dancing to music only I could hear. He watched, silently, approvingly. His gaze raking from my ankles upwards to my fingertips. And finally, my hands parted the fabric of the blouse and slid it back over my shoulders, let it fall to the floor. The matching bra barely concealed the rosey tips to my full breasts. My eyes lifted to meet his gaze.

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He sat, his chin propped on his hand studying me as I stood bared to him. As he studied me, my skin prickled again. I inhaled slowly, and my full breasts rose in response. "I can see you are aroused, Stephanie." he said. I shivered in response. My green eyes flickered to the window. "Don't worry about what is out there. Your focus is here, girl!" His voice never rose, but the tone had changed. My gaze snapped back to him immediately.

He left me there. Standing. Waiting. For how long, I am not sure. It did seem like eternity to me. I could feel the eyes of passerby's on me as I waited for him to decided on his next move. He merely sat there, looking bored, his brown eyes steady on my curves. They had darkened with desire, but he did not move. And so, I waited some more. I was tense. My heart raced. And then, finally, he shifted. I started and stepped back.

He rose quickly, like a panther. I gasped in response, my green eyes wide. He was standing before me before I knew what had happened, his hand fisted in my hair. He half tugged, half dragged me to my bed. There, he shoved me back against the silken green comforter. He loomed over me, seemingly larger than life. My mind cried out, partly in fear, partly in shock, partly in excitement - all silently. My lips were parted as I dragged a ragged breath in and watched him silently. His bag, inexplicably was dropped beside me, open.

He dipped a hand in, and he withdrew two sets of metal cuffs. Quickly they were locked around my small wrists. He leaned over me, pressing my arms above my head, and his lips slid languidly over my collar bone. His tongue lapped over my heated flesh, and as I whimpered in delight, I was barely aware of the clink of metal against wood as he secured the other end of the cuffs to the headboard. When he rose back up, the look in his eyes was triumphant, and I gave a gentle tug at my arms - and I knew the reason. He'd prevented my flight tonight.

I swallowed and inhaled yet another deep, shuddering breath. He reached again into his bag and withdrew out a long black bar, and two thick leather cuffs. His hands slid down over my body, tracing the long length of my legs. I gasped enjoying his touch as I let my eyes close. Suddenly, his hand closed roughly around my ankle as he yanked at it. I winced and cried out. The other hand wrapped the leather cuff around it and secured it. Then he reached for the other ankle, repeated. My eyes were open...darkened, but not with desire, but with pain. I watched as he reached for the long bar and spread my legs, forced them open. He locked it in place. My heart caught, seemed to stop beating. He moved then, secured my legs to the footboard. I was locked in placed. Secured to the bed. My heart beat frantically in panic in my chest.

He stood over me once again. Gone was the kind look in his eyes. Instead, I saw the brutal man I always instinctively sensed. My inner voiced cried out once again, but it was too late. He laughed that wicked laugh. The one that always made my toes curl, but this time, it made me fear, truly fear. I was at his mercy. And he knew it. He watched the fear on my face, and instead of tryin to assuage it, he played upon it. He let his fingers dance upon my my skin, playing upon my throat, feeling the racing pulse. "Are you scared, Stephanie?" he asked.

Looking up into his eyes, hoping beyond hope for some kind of assurance in whatever he was planning, I replied in a half whisper, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" he hissed. He was angry now.

"Yes, Sir" I answered quickly.

"You had better learn, and learn fast, bitch." He answered. With that he shifted, placing both his hands on the top of the cup to my bra. With a hefty tug he ripped, tearing the fragile fabric from my body. I gasped and whimpered. My body tensed and tugged at the restraints as I fought at them. He chuckled at my attempt to fight. He turned his nails downwards, dragging them roughly over my stomach leaving several red lines in their wake, to the waistline of my panties. He grabbed them as well, and ripping upwards, rended that fabric from my hips too. My heart seemed to stop. He hands roughly traced my body, and suddenly, I realized there was dark, and then there was dark. This wasn't the dark I needed or craved.

"Jeff?" I asked softly, looking up at him. I had hoped the tone of my voice would convey something more than the fear. He was feeding off of that fear and I needed him to stop. his hands stilled, and he brought his gaze to mine. "I'm scared, but not in a good way." He sat, then, settling beside me on the bed, and looked down into my face.

"You agreed there would be no arguing tonite. Remember?" He reminded me of the earlier conversation we had had.

"I know. But this is too dark." I answered back. He shushed me by putting a finger over my lips and reaching into the bag. He held up a ball gag. I frowned and shook my head, wide-eyed in response. He layed it on the pillow beside my head as a reminder, then stood and began to undress.

I watched him, and to spite my fear, grew aroused once again. He was always magnificent. He had broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He wasn't chiseled, but he his muscles were taught. He was in shape; he worked out regularly. Time and age had caught up with him and he was a little thicker around his middle, but it added to his appeal. He turned as he layed his jeans and things in a neat pile and bent over. I admired him from behind, licking my lips. I wanted him, regardless of the terms he had just laid out.

I knew my arousal would be evident to him the second he turned back around. My breasts jutted upwards, the peaks hardened, raised, puckered in the cool breeze from the window. My lower lips spread, glistening in the light from the lamp on the table at the foot of the bed. That knowledge, that he would know immediately, only aroused me further. That frustrated me further and I tugged roughly at my restraints. The sound of the metal clinking against the wood snapped his head around quickly, and I blushed in response.

He quickly crossed over to me and ran his hands over my full aching breasts, gathering a nipple in each hand. He tugged and pinched, causing me to whimper and moan both in pain and delight. He pulled until I arched my back, crying out, tears forming in the corners of my eyes whispering softly..."Stop, please, no more, please stop!" He released them, and the rush of blood back to the area was almost more painful than the actual pain he had inflicted. He chuckled as I recoiled, drawing back as best as I could with the restraints, panting in response. His hands stroked roughly over my stomach and finally dipped to my aching wet slit.

He ran one roughened finger down the wetness, dipping to rake over the clit. I shifted, raising my hips. His other hand pressed my hips down roughly. "Did I tell you to move, bitch!" My body stilled, and I fought the animalistic urge to respond. He stroked along me, teasing at my sex, and I whimpered softly. I gasped, and he laughed in response. He withdrew his hand. I cried out in protest, and he offered his fingers to my hungry lips and I lapped hungrily at them, tasting myself on his fingers.

My mouth continued to work at his fingers, when I caught the motion in the air. It was too late to prepare my body for the onslaught. The crack of the leather against my skin brought tears instantly to my eyes just as it brought welts to my flesh. I cried out around his fingers as pain seered through my body. He shoved his fingers deeper into my mouth. I whimpered and moaned as I caught sight of the flogger rise again.

It came down again, striking along my inner thigh, this time rising higher than the first strike. It dawned on me with rising clarity that he was working his way upwards with intent to strike over my sex. My body tensed in panic. My heart thundered, and he laughed gleefully as he realized my panic. He continued to strike over and over, and my body numbed from the pain as I waited, tense and wet for the strike over my pussy.

At long last, the leather crop rises. I can hear the hiss of it as it moves through the air, almost in slow motion. My body tenses further, automatically bracing for the impact, like waiting for the inevitable in a car wreck. My breath catches in my throat as the leather makes the sharp, striking contact with my tender flesh and I cry out in shock and pain. Writhing, my hips moving to spite his demand to remain still. With that, he shifts.

My clit aching, throbbing with need, with pain from the strike, he centers himself over me and drives his cock within. I moan softly, drawing up against my restraints. He pummels into me over and over, roughly stretching and filling me. He thrusts repeatedly, oblivious to any pain, or pleasure, he may be causing. He is hell bent on his own pleasure. My hips rise slightly, fall and I respond to his roughness. Just as he reaches his peek, I spill over as well. My inner muscles clench him, sending him over the edge. We both shatter, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure spills over us both.

I am breathless and pinned beneathe him. Finally, he pushes himself up, propping himself up enough to lean down and nibble at my exposed nipples. I whimper quietly in response. My heart was still pounding in my chest. He stretched over me, and pushed himself up. He reached and unhooked the spreader bar, then the ankle restraints. I slowly flexed my ankles, my legs. He reached next for the cuffs and unlocked them. I flexed my wrists and arms as he quickly packed the equipment away.

As i layed there stretching my tired and sore muscles, he gathered his things. I watched him, confused. He turned to me, half dressed. He sat on the bed, now tender and ran his hand through my blond hair. "You are so different now, Stephanie. This will be fun." Then he stood, tugged his shirt over his head, picked up his bag, and left.


I layed there....sore. My wrists and ankles were red, swollen, and surely bruised. My inner thights and labia were red, raw and welted. And he had left me. Alone. I sighed softly as tears filled my eyes and I rose from my bed. "This will be fun?" I thought. For who? I wanted darkness. Yes. But not this kind of dark. There had to be a happy medium somewhere. I wandered to my bathroom and ran a lukewarm tub and slowly sank into it. The tears slid down my face. This is not what I had wanted at all, not at one little bit.

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I remained in the tub until the lukewarm water had grown ice cold. Slowly, I dragged myself from the water and toweled myself dry, gently patting the areas that were raw and sore with the terracotta colored towel. I thought enough through the numbness to wander to the front door, still bare, to lock it and to close the windows to the cool night air in my room before curling under the blankets in my bed. I fell dreamlessly to sleep that night, thankfully.

I awoke the next morning and thanked goodness it was a Saturday. I ached from head to toe, and around my wrists and ankles were dark purple and blue bruises. By Monday, they would be tinged with yellow and green. I would need makeup and long sleeves and slacks, but I would worry about that later. My inner thighs were still raw and welted. He had spared nothing on the flogging last night. But at least I didn't dream, right? I shivered softly, and I rolled over in bed and tried to go back to sleep. I found I couldn't, so I dragged myself from my bed.

I spent the day curled up in front of the television watching old movies trying to think of anything but the aches and pains in my body. If this was the price of darkness, then I didn't want it. The sudden shrill ring of the phone brought me from my reverie. I glanced at the caller ID and sighed softly. I let the call go to voice mail. It was Jeff. I listened as his voice rang clearly over my machine after my greeting. "Stephanie, I know you are there. Pick up. NOW." He paused a few moments. "I'll be by later tonite." Then I heard the telltale click that told me he had hung up. My heart skipped a beat. There was no way. Not ever again. I rose from my sofa and checked my door, my windows confirmed they were all locked. I verified I had everything I needed for the weekend. And I returned to my room.

At nine that evening, there was a curt knock on the door. I didn't answer. I didn't check to see who it was. I knew. It was Jeff. He knocked again, calling out this time, "Stephanie? Open up. It's me." I didn't answer. He waited. And then I heard his feet head down the steps. I knew without looking he studied my bedroom window, watched the lights as they flickered with the television. And then the phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. Jeff. Of course. "Pick up."

On Sunday, he called again, but he asked if he could come by. When he didn't get an answer, he didn't make the trip. He knew I had run again. The bruises had turned dark and ugly, and I experimented with my makeup to cover them up. I failed miserably and resolved to wearing long sleeves to help hide them the next few days.

Sunday night, I crawled into bed thinking I would have another dreamless night. But the dreams stalked me again. I woke, soaked in sweat. There was no way I could go through that again. I just couldn't. It was a fluke. My imagination playing games with me. I didn't want darkness anymore. I'd tried it. It wasn't for me. I convinced myself. And I returned to sleep.

On Monday, I arose early. Looking in the mirror I realized I had the telltale circles of a restless night under my eyes to conceal too. I applied my makeup carefully and selected clothing to hide the bruises from Friday. hopefully, by midweek, I wouldn't need to worry about them anymore. I also made a mental note to pick up a sleep aid from the pharmacy on the way home. I so needed to rest.

That night, I dreamed again. But rather than violence, I dreamed of someone who coaxed me, who cared enough to worry about the level of pain he inflicted. I woke, not soaked in sweat, but greatly aroused. It was almost time to get up anyways, so I got up and showered. As I got ready for work, I thought about the dream and I decided that maybe there was something to it. I grabbed the composition book on the way out the door and tucked it into my purse. At lunch I would decide if I would call him or not.

Lunch found me sitting in a semi-busy cafe holding the paper with Jeff's name on it and a black ink pen. I was scratching and doodling over his name like a school girl, covering it from site. I wanted no part of it anymore, and if I had my address book with me, I would have done the same to it as well. My cell phone sat on the table next to the paper and I glanced from it to the name and number of the other man. With a deep breath, I picked up the phone and dialed, waiting for the answering machine to pick up on the other end.

"Oh, um, hi. This is Stephanie." I said. I hadn't expected him to actually pick up.

"Hi Stephanie! Long time no hear. How are you?" he asked.

"I'm doing well. How are you?"

"Great! Work keeps me busy, but other than that, well, you know how it goes. So, tell me, who's the lucky guy in your life these days?" he asked.

I swallowed and laughed nervously. "No lucky guy. Work's been too busy for me too." Great. Now I sound desperate. "I was actually calling to see if maybe you wanted to have dinner, catch up with a movie or something later this week."

"Oh, later this week I've got to be out of town, but what are you doing later tonite? I have nothing going on tonite," he said.

Tonight? I glanced down at my wrists. Um, could I? It was just dinner, right? Right. "Um, sure, tonight is fine."

"Still working at Brigham's?" he asked.

"Yes, I am." I answered.

"Be by there around 5:30. Is that ok?" he asked.

"Sure, that would be great!" I answered and we both hung up. I sat there stunned. A date. Now, what was I going to do? I certainly wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. That was for sure.

I sat back and thought about Adam. He had always been a friend first and foremost. We'd dated, several times actually. But we had always seemed to cycle back to friendship. Don't get me wrong, the sex was always great. Incredible actually. He was just easy going. Someone I could talk to about anything. He was the kind of guy I could trust. I sighed. Maybe that is what I needed most - someone I could trust at the moment. It was only dinner. He was an old friend. At the very least, I'd renew a friendship that, now that I was thinking about it, I missed a great deal.

I returned to work, feeling a little lighter in my mind. The bruised along my ankles and my wrists were forgotten. For the first time in a couple of days, I had a productive afternoon. I glanced up at the clock and it was already 5:20. Wow. Where did the afternoon go? Smiling, I gathered my things, and headed off to the ladies room to do a quick repair to my makeup. Turning I headed out and returned to my desk to find Adam perched on the corner smiling broadly at me. He looked exactly as I remembered - better, in fact.

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