Encountering the Darkness

I'll never forget that day, not if I live to be a thousand years old will I ever forget that day . . .

I was sitting at my usual table in the back corner of the hotel bar, dressed in a black leather and white silk. I liked that table in particular because it was quiet there, and dark, and I liked the darkness. Darkness had always been my friend, and I was comfortable with it.

I saw you as soon as you walked through the door. My god, you were beautiful. You took my breath away. I knew you from the pictures we'd exchanged in cyber-world, but I have to tell you, your pictures didn't do you justice. You walked in with an air about you, one of confidence and self-assuredness that I liked. You walked with your head high, your eyes catching and assessing everything and everyone in the room, and meeting the gaze of the other occupants there with total authority. Obviously, you were used to being in charge of yourself and of your world. I watched you, gleaning all the information I could. I learned a lot about you on your brief trip from the door to my table. You were about halfway through the room when you saw me, and I raised my glass to you in greeting, catching your eyes and holding them as you walked closer. I thought it impressive that you showed such self-possession, such self control, and I felt a familiar stirring.

"Hello," I greeted you when you finally stood but inches from me. "I hope you had an easy trip. Have a seat, please."

You sat across the table from me and ordered a drink for yourself and another for me. "Yes," you said. "The trip was fine, but I'm glad to finally be here . . . with you." Your last two words came as a mere whisper, your eyes still locked to mine. Our drinks came, and we visited as we drank, talking about the mundane things of life: work, hobbies, activities that filled the day to day procession of the years.

Our glasses empty and our conversation lagging, I reached out and laid my hand on yours, my long red nails just touching the surface of your skin. For the first time, I saw you tremble. For the first time, your head lowered and your eyes dropped. For the first time, I began to see through the walls you built around yourself and into recesses of your life that you worked so hard to hide.

"Look at me." My voice was gentle and my eyes soft as you raised your head to again meet my gaze. "Is this what you want?"

I watched your eyes as the conflict within you played itself out. You wanted it, of that I was sure. I never would have gone on if I wasn't absolutely convinced of that. Yes, you wanted it, but you were also afraid. Your tongue slipped between your lips to moisten them before you spoke. "Yes. I'm sure." The words finally came and the conflict in your eyes died, leaving only a stillness that moves me even today as it floods my memory.

I stood and smiled at you, holding my hand out to prompt you to follow. I felt your hand at the small of my back, protectively guiding me through the other bar patrons and toward the elevator bank at the other side of the marble floored lobby. I smiled at the gesture as it occurred to me that I should be the one to protect you, but your public persona had again taken you over.

The elevator doors opened and several guests exited. I pegged them as conventioneers attending the manufacturing extravaganza going on in the city that weekend. I had no idea what they manufactured, nor did I care. I did, however, care that the drinks they had evidently allowed themselves earlier in the evening had given them a false courage, prodding them to block our entrance to the lift and voice suggestions about the fun we could all have together back in their rooms. I thought you were going to come unglued. It didn't take you long, with only a look and a few carefully chosen words, to make your point and to convince them that this was something they really didn't want to do. My god, you had an inner strength.

When the elevator doors closed again, with just the two of us ensconced behind them, I inserted my elevator key into the lock that would allow us access to my rooms at the top of the hotel. I like my privacy, and I was the only occupant of that floor. We crossed the hallway to my door, and with a quick turn of the lock we entered my home, my sanctuary, my playground.

As soon as the door closed, I turned to face you, holding your eyes with a hard stare. "I have allowed you, thus far, to show the world outside that door the image you have so carefully cultivated. I allowed you to be my hero, my protector, although I am infinitely able to take care of myself. However, you are now in my world and if you wish to stay here you will understand that in my world I will accept nothing less than your total submission." I watched as the color drained from your face and your hands began to shake once more. "Do you understand?"

Your chin quivered as you tried to continue meeting my eyes, and as you tried to find your voice. Finally, your eyes dropped to the floor and your words dropped like lead from your lips. "Yes," you whispered. "I understand."

I wondered then if you really did understand. I wondered if either of us did.

* * * * *

You were there, waiting for me when I came from my bedroom. You had stripped, as told, your clothes neatly folded and stacked on the chair next to where you knelt waiting for me. The years of living within your self-made walls had taken a toll on you. Your life was all about control and order. You needed it, didn't know how to survive without it, and yet you were about to surrender it to me.

It is an awesome responsibility to accept the submission of another person. In accepting your submission I accepted responsibility not only for your pain or pleasure that evening, but for your physical and emotional well being then and through any aftershocks that might land on you later. Domination is not an easy thing, but for some, like you, neither is submission.

I crossed the room to where you waited. The muscles in your shoulders and back stood out in protest to the tension that you held. I laid my hand against your skin, and the contact made you jump. I knelt in front of you and, placing one nail under your chin and, pressing into the tender tissue there, tilted your face to mine. I searched your eyes once more for any hint that this evening would be too much for you, and was thrilled when I found no indecisiveness.

Taking your chin in my hand I purposefully pulled your face to mine, crushing my lips to yours, forcing my tongue fully into your mouth, and leaving you breathless when I let you go. I moved my lips close to your ear and whispered, "Shall we begin?" You nodded, your breath quickening. From our conversations in the other world, I knew what you were looking for, what you needed, and I believed I could take you where you wanted to go.

Still holding your chin, I guided you to your feet and back to a position in front of the windows overlooking the lights of the city. Large rings were secured to both the ceiling and the floor. A horrified look crossed your face as you realized that you were to be on display there in front of the world. Never mind that my home was on the 18th floor, and only someone willing to rent a helicopter could see in. The thought of exposure terrified you.

"Look at me." My voice was neither soft nor gentle, but it was important at that moment that I have your attention. I reached into my toy bag to find press into your hand a small metal clicker, like they sell in toy stores. "Click it. Go on." I told you. You hesitated, not understanding why I asked such a seemingly childish thing of you. I answered your question before you asked. "Because I told you to." I heard the sound of two metallic clicks and smiled. "If at any time things become too much for you, you need only to use that and our play will end. I need your promise on this. Otherwise, you will need to leave now." This was not a point open to discussion, and seeing this you nodded your promise.

Without giving you time to think further, I quickly secured my cuffs to your wrists and to the rings in the ceiling. You were surprised by the sensual softness of their fur lining and by the strength with which they held you, arms widespread. Another set wrapped your ankles, attaching then to the rings in the floor. I looked up at you, a chilling smile on my lips. I held in my hand one last cuff which I used to, agonizingly slowly, secure your balls tightly to a ring between those holding your ankles, leaving you bound, spreadeagle, and exposed.

"They're tight. Test them," I told you as I stepped back. You did your best to struggle free without ripping off a portion of your anatomy. I saw the panicked look rise in your eyes as you realized that control was now mine. I glanced between your legs to find that in spite of your fear, or perhaps because of it, the evening was having a pleasant affect on you. I put one finger to my lips and looked pointedly at you fully erect cock.

"My, you seem to be enjoying this, hmm?" My words gently taunted you, and you blushed a deep red. "Embarrassed? I'm enjoying it too." I took the finger from my lips and ran it between my legs, easily coating it with my juices, before holding it to your eyes. You saw the light glistening off the moisture, and you smelled my scent. "Would you like to taste it?" I asked, holding it but an inch from your face.

"Please," you said. It was the first word you had spoken since I saw you kneeling on my floor.

I touched the tip of my finger to your lips, coating them with my flavor. Your tongue darted out, savoring my gift to you.

"More, please?" Your voice shook as you spoke. "Please?"

I smiled and reached again into my bag, my back toward you. I walked behind you and pressed the bulbous end of a black ball gag to your lips. Your mouth shut tightly against the intrusion, and I saw you look quickly up at the toy in your hand. Behind you, I waited, wondering what your choice would be, until your lips slowly parted and the cold rubber slipped into your warm, wet mouth. I smiled, though you didn't know it, at the strength it took to make such a concession and at the additional piece of control you just released.

In your eyes I saw fear, panic, and absolute despair. Your eyes darted back and forth, small whimpers came from behind the gag, and a single tear slipped down you cheek. I knew what was happening to you behind your eyes. I felt your terror at the unknown, your helplessness at being held bound, and your despair to the point of resignation and acceptance. I saw and understood your total and complete submission to the whims of another.

My heart lurched as I ached for your inner pain. I wanted to pull the gag from between your teeth, to release the straps, to wrap my arms around you and assure you that you were safe, but I didn't. To have done so would have destroyed you. In your total submission, you had offered yourself as a gift to me, and the gift of submission is a precious thing, not to be discounted or taken lightly. In binding you, in taking responsibility for you, I had accepted your gift. As much as my heart ached for you, I couldn't release you now. I knew how it felt to give yourself as a gift to another only to have that gift rejected. I would not do that to you.

I placed a blindfold over your eyes. The soft silk fabric was as comforting as the darkness was disconcerting. I spoke, my voice coming from only inches in front of you. "You're afraid. You're afraid of the unknown and the known, but know this. I may hurt you, but I would never harm you." That said, you felt the bite of the cold steel clamps I placed on your nipples. Fire raced through your chest, your head snapped back trying to elude the pain, and something between a moan and a muffled cry broke from your throat, but . . . not a click was heard. Your breakdown had begun.

I stood behind you with a soft, suede whip in my hand. As I saw you begin to relax my first blow landed squarely between your shoulders. You whimpered and jumped, trying to pull away from the straps, more from surprise than from pain. This one stroked with a gentle massage rather than the bite of things to come. Blow after blow warmed your back and the curve of your cheeks, bringing out a soft red tinge as your whimpering became soft moaning, and I knew it was time to change instruments.

The strips of my favorite black rubber flogger were harder and more intense than the one before. You bucked at each stroke, pulling at the binding between your legs, bringing more pain to yourself than I was issuing. My stomach churned as I heard you cry out behind the ball filling your mouth, but still I pushed us both with a rain of harsh blows. I saw the first signs of light blue bruising across your shoulders, and then I heard . . . a click.

Dropping my flogger, I immediately moved to your side and pulled the gag from your lips. Just as I reached to release your bindings, you spoke.

"Please, no. I'm sorry. I just couldn't breathe. I don't want to disappoint you. I'm sorry." Your voice shook as you fought for control of yourself.

I kissed you fully on your lips, and moved away to return to our game. You didn't want to disappoint me. My hand shook as I picked up a leather wrapped handle and began to take your pain to a higher level. The first crack of the lash brought a scream from deep within you and a hot red stripe to your skin. The second and third sustained your agony and your screams. Tears flowed from beneath your blindfold, and as I forced myself to continue, tears flowed down my cheeks. Your agony was my agony. Your pain was mine. I took great care to ensure that you were not harmed, that your flesh remained unbroken within the stripes criss-crossing your back. I choked back the sobs as the white silk I wore began to cling to the moisture beading on my skin. Your screams dulled and faded, turning instead to deepening moans, and your body was caught in and racked by a powerful orgasm as you spilled yourself onto the floor. Your strength was spent. Your chin rested against your chest as you could no longer support its weight. Quietly you fell into the dark void of sub-space, where you almost cease to be, where pain and pleasure meet. You were gone.

I wiped the tears from my face. I was your strength now. Gently, I released the cuffs that held you to the floor and removed the clips from your nipples, although I knew it would bring a shot of hot pain to you again. I don't think you even felt it. Only then, when I knew I need concentrate on nothing else, did I release your wrists, catching you as you collapsed against me. I held you gently, supporting your body, and laid you down on the soft sofa nearby. I sat there beside, cradling your head in my lap, stroking your hair, whispering soft words to you, and guiding you safely back down to the real world. Your body shook for a time from the physical and emotional demands placed on it. Quietly you cried, and soon, curled into a fetal ball, you slept. I covered your naked and sweat-covered body, kissed your brow, and let you sleep.

I didn't leave your side that night, but stayed to watch over you in the dark. As I watched you breathe, I cried. I cried for the pain I caused you, for the innocence I took from you, and for the pleasure I received from doing so. As a girl, I had always been taught to be the nurturer, the soft and loving side of this world. As a woman, I found a craving within myself for just the opposite. It wasn't until the sun began to peek over the horizon, bringing with it the blues, golds, and pinks of morning, and allowing me to see in that first light the look of complete peace on your face that I finally understood. As your hand fell open a small bit of metal, your safety line, tumbled from your palm, and I finally understood.

I'll never forget that day, not if I live to be a thousand years old will I ever forget that day . . . the day I found the softer side of my darkness.

Thank you for reading my story. I be pleased if you would let me know what you think. Good or bad, it all helps. And please remember to vote. Thanks.