Ill Never Hurt You

A confession transcribed by Matthew Dyne

He caressed her mind, day after day, and she craved him, and she wanted him, for real, if only one tim

e

. She knew she mustn't,

but the end justifies the means

, she told herself. But can cheating ever be okay? Is it okay if it's good for her? Is it okay if it's good for her

and

for him, he who was cheated, or would that be rationalization? You be the judge in her confession of love, lust, betrayal, offering all, being bound, and being taken.

I don't like seeing a woman performing a carnal act unless I know what led her to it. I want to know the whys and wherefores behind her actions. If a man whispers, 'I'll never hurt you,' passionately, in a woman's ear, it's only meaningful if you know her background, how she came to be with him, and the relationship struggles she went through.

'I'll never hurt you' was said to me and was a turning point in my life. It was the missing piece of my

self

that I found when He said those words. I must tell you how that happened. I need someone to understand.

***

I don't do much work for money and most of that I do at home. I make artificial flowers, and I paint, decorative stuff, usually plates. I sell my work at craft fairs. Mostly, it's a hobby. Sometimes I work at a coffee shop, for a little extra money.

I met Him online, on a forum. I know, you're thinking

another Internet romance

. But I didn't go looking for that. I was unhappy, and I just wanted to talk to people who had the same kinds of problems I did.

My problem, the main one, was that I love sex, but my sexuality was dormant. There was no passion in it. I didn't respond well to him—to my husband.

Yes, I'm married, and I have a high interest in sex, but I couldn't relate well, sexually, to my husband. I felt inhibition, confusion, shame, things like that. But He taught me not to feel that way. He changed me.

***

Before my husband, I had two boyfriends. I tried intercourse with each of them. I was young. I did it out of curiosity. It was horrible, I didn't want to do it again, and I got dumped. Same story, both times. Not friends after that.

He was sympathetic to my problems, and I was attracted to that. He suggested things I could do, and I took to them well, which surprised me. I'd wait in bed, naked, for my husband to come home from work. Or I'd call him from the supermarket and tell him I was shopping without panties on. When he got home he was excited, and his excitement excited me.

He suggested things for me to do with my husband, and then He wanted to know what happened. I shared all I could remember. I told him

everything

, and it excited and aroused me. We had many sexual talks, about me and my husband and about His and my fantasies, acting them out. He regularly had sex with me, virtually and vicariously, but what we did wasn't just for him. He was good to me. He helped me, and I love him.

I love Him, but as far as seeing him again...

Yes, I saw him.

But as far as seeing him again, I closed that door.

***

We talked online, by private messages, e-mail, and sometimes IM. Then he started showing me bondage pictures, which turned me on, a lot. He went into other areas, too, but if they didn't turn me on he backed off. He learned what I liked and how to push the buttons I wanted pushed. A better way to put it is: he learned how unbutton the buttons I wanted unbuttoned. Did he ever! I discovered that more than anything else I wanted to be tied up.

After awhile he started showing me photos of him at work to prove his identity. He had a lot to lose, because he is married too, but that was his point. He was doing what he had to do to get me to trust him. He manipulated me, but I was willing. Sometime I got angry, because he would get frustrated with me when I couldn't explain how I felt. But I love him.

I saw him, met him, once, in person. I'm tempted to meet with him again, but I know I mustn't go back there. He can't take care of me. He's married, and he's much older than I. He has a son my age, and I have kids, too. Kids complicate matters, tremendously. I had my oldest when I was only eighteen. Eighteen is young to be a mother. Now I'm thirty-one.

I love my husband. I'm crying.

***

I like a man who likes to make women feel good. It arouses me more to receive than to give. If I touch a man it feels good, but being touched excites me more. My favorite thing is to have a man give me a bath, a massage, and then, when I'm very ready...

I like being controlled. Being touched by a man is a form of being controlled. The extreme is rape. I have many rape fantasies, but I don't want to be abused. I just want a man to take me the way he wants to. Rape fantasy is what convinced me to meet Him.

For two years we talked on the forum. He tried to get me to meet him, but I resisted. He persisted and manipulated me. I let myself be manipulated, and, eventually, I couldn't resist anymore. I knew I was betraying my husband, but I used the excuse that it helped us. It did help us.

He was aware that He was living out a fantasy, the fantasy of being an older man who gets to introduce a young woman to sex that thrills her in ways she has never experienced. He knew he was doing something other men longed for. I often joked with Him that he was my sex therapist, but he was, and he was good at it. Am I ashamed of what I did? I am ashamed of the

means

but not the

end

.

***

I gave him my real name, but it was months after he gave me his. He was nervous that I was submitting. It was cute that he wasn't completely sure of himself—that he was vulnerable, too, and didn't try to hide it. He kept reassuring me, making sure I was okay and not afraid of him. It would be ruined if I truly feared for my safety.

His reassurance was comforting. It was what I needed, and he gave it to me, and his continual reassurance encouraged me to consider meeting him, for real. We began playing how we could safely meet, keeping our meeting secret. After awhile it stopped being a game.

What I wanted was simple. I needed to feel his touch. He caressed my mind, day after day, and I craved him, and I knew it, and I wanted him, for real, if only one time. That was my condition—that we only meet once.

I still craved feeling loved, but my marriage was improving. There was more closeness in every way. Everything was getting better, though my husband is not one to lean toward bondage and that type of game playing. He's more of a romantic—baths, massage, things I like. My husband gives me a bath quite regularly, now, and we

do

play some games, just not bondage. If I get the smallest scratch I tell him I'm wounded, and he'll wash me. Sometimes he comes to me to... kiss his wounds, no matter where they are. Sometimes I can't see them, and I wonder how he could have gotten an injury in such a place. But if he is hurt I just have to help. It's silly, very loving, very fun.

I became more sexually open, and after learning how to talk to Him I could more easily talk to my husband. I knocked down a few walls and learned how to be a healthier person, psychologically. I wasn't afraid of my husband anymore—afraid of telling him what I was thinking—afraid he wouldn't like it. It's not that my husband was strict or wouldn't give me what I want. He likes giving me what I want, but I used to be afraid he wouldn't, and I was afraid to talk to him about my feelings. After I learned to play games with Him I tried a few games with my husband, sex games, at first, and they worked. Then I tried talking to him. That was harder, but I got better at it, and He kept helping me. Now I can talk to my husband about most things, though sometimes we have conflicts.

***

The craft fairs at which I sell my plates are, usually, weekend events. He and I planned meeting around one of those. I told him what city I would be in, when, and for how long. We decided major things beforehand and decided to work out the specifics when we arrived. It was quite a drive for him but only a few hours for me. Meeting was scary. I almost turned around. Meeting was scary for him, too, but he said had an erection the whole way. He told me it wouldn't go down and that that had never happened to him, before.

I told him how long the craft fairs lasted, and we planned to meet for dinner, the first night. He had a picture of me—we exchanged lots of pictures. I thought he was attractive, but I wouldn't have thought him

as

attractive if I hadn't talked to him first. Attractiveness comes from talking, not only looking.

I'm a nice person, and I think I look good for thirty-one and kids, but, overall, I'm insecure about my appearance. He thought I was terribly sexy. It was probably because I made myself available, but, whatever his reasons, his thinking that I was sexy turned me on.

We had dinner together the first night, but we had decided, in advance, that the first night sex would be optional. He told me exactly how to greet him. Knowing what to do and say calmed my nerves and was fun. He also told me how to dress, but don't let your imagination run wild. I wore a business suit, nothing erotic. He wanted us to appear to be business friends. Pretending that we had met before was very arousing. We were acting out our fantasy, in the flesh, so to speak, but we're not at that part of the story yet.

He was there first, so he watched me approach. I was brought to his table. I felt like I was a gift being delivered. It was soooo sexy. He stood, and I got so wet so quickly that it shocked me. I had a hard time saying what I was supposed to say, but I managed to get out, "Hi. It's been too long. I'm so glad you could make time for me."

Sex optional, Ha—I wanted him to take me right then and there, in the middle of the dining room with everyone looking on. I was dying of horniness, but instead of a ravishment we ate dinner and talked like old friends rekindling a relationship. It was wonderful, and, as it turned out, we didn't have sex that night. We didn't even sleep in the same room. We slept in separate hotels.

We did do a lot of kissing, but it was his decision to wait. He told me I'd

have

to wait. I didn't want to, and I asked why. He said I

needed

to wait for it. He was purposely making me wait. He liked having power over me, though, later, he admitted it took all of his power not to rape me in the parking lot. He also said older men don't like to rush, at least the nice ones. That was his other reason.

He walked me to my car and put me in. He stayed outside, leaning in the open window, and we talked more like we did online, him driving me crazy then making me wait, keeping me aroused and watching me squirm, literally. Then he made me put my fingers inside my panties. He asked to see them. Of course they were wet. I thought he was going to lick my fingers, but he told me to lick them. He wanted to watch me do it. I liked making him happy, and I played with myself for him, in a public parking lot, with people nearby. He only touched my hair, softly, caressingly, whispering all the time. He was very gentle. I was reassured, and I cried. He liked making me cry, making me show intense feelings. I wanted to get out and get into his arms. I needed to have him hug me, but he wouldn't let me out. He kissed me more. He said, "I love you." He said I belonged to him, meaning a bondage kind of belonging and a friend for life belonging.

When I got back to my hotel I masturbated, again and again. It only helped a little.

***

We agreed that the next night I would come to his hotel room. I didn't see him during the day, because I had to attend the fair. He said that while I was there I had to wear a skirt that wasn't long, and I couldn't wear panties. I was aroused even before I got into the crowd, and I'm a very wet girl. I get wetter than most girls—we girls do discuss such things. I got so wet and messy that I had to keep going to the ladies' room to wipe myself. Otherwise I would have dripped down my legs. Nevertheless, because of Him I still go without panties, a lot of the time.

I was nervous all day, but a different kind of nervous—an excited nervousness, anticipating pleasure.

I was told to change my clothes and go to his hotel room, but he wouldn't tell me what was going to happen. He said it would be along the lines of our fantasies. I had his key card, and I pretended I was going back to my room.

The room was dark when I entered. I reached for the light switch, and a hand grabbed me. He pulled my arm behind my back, put his hand over my mouth, and bent me backwards. He told me not to scream.

I was scared, for real. I didn't know if he was playing or was really going to rape me. I started panicking and whimpering. "I can't do this anymore, I can't do this anymore," I kept repeating, and I started crying.

He began to whisper my name, over and over, but I didn't notice. He kept a tight hold of me, and he shook me to get my attention. Then I heard him. "Rina, Rina," he whispered with his lips next to my ear.

He got my attention, and he gave me a choice. He said, "Leave now and meet me in the lobby. Or promise not to scream." I thought about his choice, and after a few moments I said I wouldn't scream. "Good Girl," he whispered, and he took his hand off my mouth. Then he whispered, "Rina, I'll never hurt you." At that moment my life changed.

I had always been passive, afraid to act, afraid to give... At that moment I realized that I had always been afraid of actively giving, especially sexually, but my realization was fleeting. It would come back later, but I had more immediate concerns, and I put my breakthrough away for consideration at another time. I was so relieved that I wasn't going to be hurt that I giggled, nervously. He didn't like that, and he smacked my ass, hard. It hurt a lot, but it also felt good, because I knew we were playing a game. It was a relief that I wasn't going to be raped for real.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. He smacked me again, hard, and I squealed and tried to pull away, but he held onto me.

"What did you say?" he asked angrily.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to sound very, very sorry indeed.

"Good girl," he said. Then he marched me into the room, pushing me ahead of him.

He stopped in front of a table. He warned me that he was going to let go of me but that he was stronger and quicker than I, and I'd better not try to escape, or he'd have to hurt me.

He let go of me. Then he sat in a chair and looked me over, staring at me, ogling my body, his eyes roaming up and down. He was seemed relaxed and thoughtful, as if he had absolute control and all the time in the world to consider the ways he was going go to tie me up and rape me. It was totally arousing.

I was wearing slacks and a button up shirt over a tank top. It was what he told me to wear. He said, "Take off your slacks."

I'd shown myself naked in pictures, but taking my clothes off in front of him was different. I wondered why he wanted me to take off my slacks first, rather than my shirt. Usually it would be first base, second base, third base—R rated, X rated—top exposed then bottom. I was also curious as to why only slacks, but the confusion helped. I was too distracted by the whys to be nervous about stripping. And, anyway, I wanted him to make me undress.

I took off my slacks, and he stared at me. He liked making me wait. He once said, about women, "Slow cooking makes juicy meat." I would have started dripping down my legs, again, after he stared at me for so long, except that he told me to wear panties—more to take off, I suppose.

I looked away from him, and he said, "

Look at me!

" He didn't yell, but it was definitely an order. I knew he would make me look at him. We talked about that before. He insisted that my eyes be on him at all times. That was hard—I can't help but look away when a stare is strong—but I forced myself to look at him, because he told me to. When I'm put on the spot I have the nervous habit of licking my lips, and I started doing that. He loved it. It almost broke his straight face. I saw the effect I was having and went for it—I kept on licking.

He could tell I was teasing, and he didn't like it. "

Turn around!

" he commanded me. I was afraid he was going to spank me again. Side note: he's an ass man.

He got up and told me to back up and stand close, so I would touch him. When I was against him he put his arms around me and pulled me tightly to him. He was dressed. Below the waist I wore only panties. I could feel him. He was hard, and he was pushing into me, rubbing himself on me. Then he commanded, "

Take off your panties!

"

I took them off, and he roughly pushed me forward. He said, "

Put your hands on the table!

"

I bent over, and he came close, leaned on me, and reached around and spread my hands, putting them wide apart. Again, he pushed his penis between my buttocks, and I could feel how hard he was. I loved that position: him behind me, leaning on me, stimulating himself, surrounding me, breathing on my neck. I felt weak and helpless. I couldn't see what was coming, what he was going to do to me next. And the whispering, God, I loved that whispering, and he being dressed and I naked. I felt helpless and afraid. It was

soooo

erotic.

***

Older men are more fun. That's how I felt when I was with Him, and that's, partly, what my confession is about—that I was attracted to a man who would take charge of and dominate me. But I want you to understand that I love my husband too, especially now that I am aroused by him instead of being afraid. I love both men, and I want to give you a picture of how He helped me get to know my husband better and about how my husband and I relate, now, sexually.

Thinking about what I had done, with Him, got me so horny last night that I practically forced my husband, not that he needed much forcing.

The kids weren't sleeping, but they were in bed, and I had run a bath and had gotten in. Of course my husband came in to make sure I was okay—he likes watching me take a bath—but last night I wanted him in the bath with me.

He prefers having sex in bed, but I have ways of convincing him, and I couldn't wait.

He undressed, and I had him sit behind me, leaning back, and I sat in his lap. It felt great having him inside me, but we couldn't move much without sloshing water all over the floor, and, anyway, he can't come that way. He can only come in the missionary position, not that there's anything wrong with that, and doing it other ways works to prolong our lovemaking.

After awhile we got out, he dried me, and I dried him. It was the least I could do, and it got him super hard.

I spread dry towels on the floor, and we did it there. The kids probably still weren't asleep, and our bedroom is near theirs, and we don't like them to hear us. As I said, I couldn't wait.

My husband came, big time. I did too. I never could have done that in the old days. I never could have taken the lead that way, because my husband isn't as sexual as I am. I mean, he doesn't want to have sex with me as often as I want to have sex with him, though I see him checking out plenty of other women, not that he'd ever cheat on me.

Oh God!

What a terrible thing to say.

What I meant was, I didn't used to be able to ask for what I wanted, and I didn't know how to get him aroused so that he wanted it too. Now I'm better at that.

***

He is an ass man, so that's where He focused his attention. He was dressed, my panties were off, and he was behind me. I was bent over, and he was bending over me, surrounding me with his arms and rubbing his penis on me. My hands were on the table, and he spread them farther apart. He was breathing on my neck. I felt weak and helpless. I kept licking my lips.