A Girl Gone Ch 02

The problem with my fantasies is that I always want a little reality in them. I guess I could say the same for my reality.

My name is Melinda. I am now forty years old and still afraid of the dark.

David and I have been married for thirteen years. It's by far the longest of my three marriages. I guess it's because by the time I met David; I had become honest with myself.

I guess you can say I always had a type. My first husbands were controlling father figures that dominated my life in every way. Even the men I cheated on them with had the same qualities. David was quite the opposite. Receiving instructions is something he enjoys. He enjoys being a spectator. He likes a lot of things that make us the perfect couple.

I never knew it could be so intense to have someone to play with.

My morning started at 4:00 am like it always does. I have been waking up to that time for as long as I can remember. My mind is my alarm now.

My family was very poor. There were five of us in a two-level house. Comfort was not the thing my stepfather was concerned about. The winters were too cold, and the summers were too hot.

I woke up drenched in sweat and immediately went into a PTSD flashback to living at home. My heart was racing, and I was almost paralyzed in fear.

I put my hand on the bed and felt for David beside me. He was not there.

I got up and staggered out of the room. I felt weakened by the suffocating heat. The light didn't come on when I flipped the switch. The lack of electricity pushed me deeper into the feeling of being home again.

Carefully holding on to the metal rail, I went downstairs to find David. It takes a while to adjust to the dark. By the time I got to the bottom floor, I was at least seeing shadows. I never saw him.

"Melinda!" he yelled in a deep voice that echoed through the quiet morning.

I froze in my tracks.

The cars passing by on the road outside the front of the house gave just enough light that I could see David sitting in a recliner. He had positioned the chair in the perfect spot to get a view of the land. There was no way for anything to sneak up behind him, and it was impossible for anyone to get by him without getting caught.

I was in a kill zone.

I know this because it's something my military trainer stepfather had taught me.

He had the same trap. The same chair. The same motives.

He was there to control me.

"Where are you going this early?" he asked

He was making his voice deeper and louder than normal, and each word sent a panic through my body. Even though I could not get my legs to move, my fists clenched. I could at least make it seem like I was choosing to stand my ground.

Things had changed between my step father and I after I turned eighteen. He was never nice before then but he was absolutely possessive of me after. He always wanted to know where I was going and who I was going to be with. He gave every indication that I belonged to him.

"Is the heat on?" I asked, still half in a dream world from not only waking up early but waking up to the incredible heat that had consumed our apartment as though Hell had opened a door.

"I asked you a question!" he said forcefully.

I could hear the leather creak under him from the shift in his weight. My legs were now shaking under me.

"I was looking for you," I answered nervously.

I thought I was stronger than this now.

Seeing his silhouette. Hearing the chair.

I was still afraid of the dark.

I hated that chair.

"Take your clothes off," he said

I felt my eyes water and a tear run down my cheek as my legs shook violently under me. I could barely stand.

I pulled my sweat-soaked shirt off and instinctively crossed my arms over my chest as if I was shy or ashamed. I still couldn't say which one of those I was.

The combination of heat and fear made sweat run down my body as if I had showered and found myself here.

He reached down and turned on a small lamp that was sitting on the floor. I had painted so much detail in telling David the story that he could manufacture the scene down to the lack of an end table by the chair.

The light was enough for me to see his hairy legs just up to his knees. The rest of his body disappeared into the darkness to make it look like they he was the darkness itself.

I knew what he was waiting for.

I put my thumbs into the waist of my panties and pushed them off me. I had to go lower than normal, as there was no freedom once they reached a certain point in my legs. They didn't drop themselves. The sweat made them cling to me so much that I had to bend over and get them to my calves before I could step out of them.

I heard him moan. A low bass that was perfectly enhanced by the acoustics of the pretty much empty room. It traveled across my skin, up the small of my back, between my legs...

"Come here" he ordered, his voice falling in a whispering dominance

Before I even exhaled a cry, he sensed my fear as I stepped forward with my left foot on the rough surface above the once immaculately clean floors of my house. If I had to guess, he had intentionally tracked dried mud inside.

There was also a hint of gravel. Just enough to mix the senses of my ever sensitive feet. The floor felt like I was home again.

He had it all down to the last detail. Everything I had told him. Every word I had written about it as I tried to heal and let go.

This was never ending. This was who I am.

I ran out of space to walk, as the guilty often do.

As soon as I felt the leather touch my shins, I felt his hand take my wrist and pull me onto his lap.

He had left just enough room to recline just a little in the chair. Enough for me to be taller than him. Just enough for me to have to put my hands on the wall as he put his face to my breasts and moved his hands to my ass.

I hated that chair. There was no place to put my legs. Kneeling between his legs and the sides of the chair only made it awkward and frustrating for him. My legs always ended up on the arms and left them in a constant slide of sweaty skin against the leather. It always spread me too far and left me too vulnerable. That was what he wanted.

I sat over his cock and lowered myself on it. Always wet and ready, just like now and just like then.

My hands trailed off the wall and gripped the back of the chair until it sounded like my nails would claw through it like a wild animal.

I moved my hips slowly. Just like how he wanted. Just like how he taught me.

I moved down on his cock and we slowly sank down in the chair until we were face to face. The kissing was always the worst part, but it was what he needed to get off.

I wanted him there as quickly as possible. I could taste Jack Daniels on his breath. My sweet husband didn't miss a detail.

I still can't stomach the taste or smell of that drink.

The leftover smell of the night before was the worst. It was enough to make my stomach turn even as I felt the familiar twitching of muscles. The shaking in my legs, the euphoria of losing control.

The buildup of tension arches my back and curls my toes until the room becomes blurry.

The powerful hand that grabs the back of my hair only heightens the feeling.

"Sneak out all you want. Nobody is ever going to make you feel as good as I do," he says through clenched teeth right next to my ear.

Sometimes my orgasm is so strong that I wonder if it will ever stop.

My hips roll wildly until I make him cum with me

I own this moment now. It no longer owns me.

I am stronger for it.

I am in the crawlspace.

No lace.

Denim and venom today.

Burned by the weight.

Charcoal the eyes.

Trace the lips.

Darken the shade to bring out the inside.

Vanished and locked away in a maze cage.

Cold and sterile are the stares I live under.

Single file dolls like me are unaware of their fate.

The slaps of their shoes against the tile is their marching band beat.

Everyone is in step.

They are all a step behind me.