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.
