It's Not the Size That Counts Ch. 10

"So, how long are you just going to leave your hand down there?"

"For a while. I want to...test a theory. I have a story to tell you in the meantime. I promise at the end of my story I'll explain my theory."

"A story?"

"Well, look. Now I know your big secret, I think it's time you knew mine."

"Cathy?"

"That's part of it. There are a couple of parts to this."

"You look nervous."

"I am. I have what you might call an "interesting" past. I want to tell you about it, you need to know. But I'm not sure you will be okay with all of it. I'm afraid that once you know the whole story, you'll break up with me for reasons that have nothing to do with this scar."

"That sounds ominous."

"Thus my nervousness."

"Did you actually just say 'thus'?"

"Um, yeah. Yes. I did."

"Right. Goof. Okay listen, I can't predict my reaction, but I can promise to try to keep an open mind. By the way, I won't be offended if what this is about is you having had a lot of previous experience with women, or whatever. What you did in the past isn't my business."

"Thanks, I appreciate that...but this sort of is your business. You need to know, if you're going to stay with me."

"Okay...I suspect I'm going to end up hating this Cathy in the end, aren't I?"

"I certainly hope not! She didn't do anything wrong."

"But you did?"

"No. Not exactly. I need to start from the beginning!"

"Alright, sorry. Go ahead."

"So, I grew up a long way away from here. I'm actually not supposed to tell you where, to be honest. I'll explain that later. Anyway, my childhood wasn't...exactly typical. I mean, I had a family, I went to school...but my family were, well, different."

"Different than what?"

"Well, let's just say we weren't the Cleavers. I'll put it this way, my parents were...I guess a good word for it is adventurous. And I don't mean they liked to travel, or sky dive. They were swingers. But more than that, they were pretty into ...um...have you heard of BDSM?" I nodded.

"My dad was a submissive. My mom was, it's called a switch? Sometimes dominant, sometimes submissive. They were pretty open about it, very 'anything goes'. When mom wanted to be dominated they had some 'special friends' who used to come over and do that for her. Or for her and dad. They liked all the cliché stuff - leather, bondage, whips, you name it. We had some of all that in the basement. And my parents encouraged us to be curious, to ask about whatever we were interested in. I suppose if the authorities knew, they'd have considered it inappropriate, but to us it was just how things were. Normal. Though we were definitely taught not to discuss it with friends. We grew up knowing a lot about sex, and the details of my parents' sex lives."

"Us? We?"

"I had a sister. Cathy. She was five years older than me."

"Oh! Jealousy abated."

"Yeah. So anyway, Cathy, being older, became somewhat involved in the life, when I was still a kid. My parents didn't see anything wrong with a 17 year-old girl having a dominant older boyfriend, or sleeping around within the BDSM community. There was never anything sexual between Cathy and my folks - they did have some rules - but she was involved with several others. She was a switch too. And in high demand, probably because she was so young. And really pretty.

"One of the men in the BDSM community, Leo, became rather fixated on Cathy. He was a dom, and at first she was flattered and willingly went with him. But he was quite a bit more intense than she was after. He was really into pain, and extreme bondage; he definitely never wanted her to act on her own dominant side. After a while he started scaring her, and she told my parents. They tried to pull her out of it, tried to get her away. They even went to the police after a while, filed a restraining order.

"I told you my parents were killed in a car accident when I was 15?" I nodded.

"Well, all four of us were actually in the car. Cathy and I were in the back seat, on our way home from somewhere or other. All I can remember was bright light, and then spinning and the sound of screaming, and then hanging upside down. We had been hit, head on, by a truck. My parents, in the front seat, were killed immediately. But Cathy and I, in the back seat, weren't badly injured. I could see her, she was ok. And then the car door was wrenched open. We thought we'd been rescued, but instead, the men...they took her. They kidnapped Cathy.

"After the fact we learned that Leo had caused the collision on purpose. He was driving the truck. It had one of those huge steel grill things on the front, and so wasn't badly damaged in the crash. Afterwards, he took her. She was probably dazed, and she was a tiny thing, so it wouldn't have been hard to snatch her. By the time the police and paramedics arrived, she was long gone, and I was alone. The police looked for her for months. They never found her. No body, no clues to where she'd gone. His house was abandoned when they searched it, as well as the few people in the community who were close to him. His name was false, and they never even figured out who he was.

"The police didn't totally believe me about why he took her. They were worried my parents were involved in crime or drugs or something, I think. My mother had a sister who was unmarried, had no kids - she inherited me, and we were both put into Witness Protection. We were moved here and started a new life. I was told not to ever mention a sister, or her kidnap, where I was from etc. I opted out of the program about five years ago, when my aunt died. Since I know who took Cathy, I know I'm not at risk because he wasn't interested in me. It has always haunted me not knowing if she's alive or dead, where she might be. I have a lot of nightmares, as you saw."

"Oh my God, Steven. Is your name even Steven? I don't know what to say." I noted that he now had two fingers inside me, gently moving. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't really sex either. I had no idea what he was up to, but was far more fascinated by his story. I chose to ignore the fingers for now.

"It was Michael. But I've been Steven for almost as long as I was ever Michael; in my head I am Steven. I thought about switching it back when I opted out of Witness Protection, but decided that I am not Michael anymore."

"Are they still looking for your sister?"

"Not really. It's an open case file, but the police are all convinced she's dead, her body dumped somewhere it just hasn't ever been found."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know. Part of me is convinced she's alive, wants her to be...but it's been 15 years. It's pretty unlikely. And if she is alive, what sort of life has she had for the last 15 years? I don't even want to think about it. I felt guilty about her kidnap for a long time after the accident. I jumped into martial arts and boxing for a while, trying to make sure I'd never be helpless again if someone I loved were ever threatened. It turned my nightmares quite violent at times; my aunt learned not to come and try to wake me when I was having one after I accidentally hit her while still mostly asleep. That's why I was worried about hurting you last night when you came into my bed. But honestly, I was so completely traumatized by my loss that I never allowed myself to love anyone except my aunt. Not for a long time.

"When I turned 20, I decided to get into the BDSM scene. I think I was partly hoping I'd catch wind of Leo. But I was also desperately lonely, but far too vulnerable to try a normal relationship. Because of my parents, BDSM was familiar. But after Cathy, there was no way I would ever have been a sub. I became a dom.

"I was never into pain or anything like that; I only ever did things that I had explicit permission for. In fact, over the couple of years I spent on the scene, I rescued a few subs who weren't really volunteers - they were victims. I didn't have a lot of sex, which most of them didn't understand; I was looking to fill a void, and it became obvious right away that empty sex with strangers just didn't fill that for me. I drifted through the scene for a while, but never got too involved. Eventually I met someone through a coworker who was not into the scene, and I quit going. The relationship didn't last all that long, but it demonstrated that for me, vanilla but meaningful was much better for me than BDSM. I once heard an acronym - TNWWTKBINMK - which is 'There's Nothing Wrong With That Kink But It's Not My Kink'." Steven added a third finger to whatever he was doing down below. I squirmed briefly, and again got distracted by his story.

"The one person I did meet through the scene was a dominatrix named Isabelle. She was a friend only, I never got involved with her, but I found her very interesting. For all that her kink was tying up beautiful women, it was her sideline that fascinated me. In addition to being a professional dominatrix, she also worked as a sex therapist. Not from the psychology perspective; her training was actually in physiotherapy. And she was very hands-on.

"She only worked with single women; most of her clients came to her having just been dumped by their husbands or boyfriends, because they experienced pain with sex. She told me once that out of all her clients, only a few of them actually had something wrong, like you. For most of them it was in their heads. They'd had one or a few bad experiences, and it made them afraid; the more afraid they were, the more they tensed up. Then it did hurt, because they were tense, anxious, and dry.

"She would work with them one on one, first teaching them how to orgasm, then once they were comfortable with pleasure, she would start working on the pain. Even for the ones that had something wrong, once they started to relax, the pain would improve. And there were always positions they could try, things that didn't hurt. Once she could get them past the pain with her, she'd set them up with a man, someone anonymous but safe, and they'd learn not to be afraid with him too. That's when they were finished with their therapy.

"I worked for her, a couple of times. With women who'd been abused or raped, who started crying before anyone even touched them. She would start out with them, get them to the point that with her they could orgasm, tolerate penetration with a dildo, that sort of thing. She told me she'd seen me rescue a sub who was being forced onto the scene by an abusive husband, and so she trusted that I would never force something with one of her clients. And she was very clear; these women were clients, not romantic interests. She insisted that even though I was not the 'therapist', I could not have a personal relationship with these women because it would be taking advantage of a power differential; they would not have been able to say no, even if they wanted to. They'd been through too much.

"It would start with just watching a movie while holding hands, or putting my arm around them. Then it would be hugging, then kissing. After a while we'd move to just trying to be comfortable naked, but not even touching. We'd try a back rub, a hot tub together, eventually progressing to sex. Isabelle was often there in the initial stages, and sometimes for the more intimate parts; she was always just outside the door. It was awkward, sometimes; I had someone run away crying more than once. It was quite gratifying though, seeing them improve and be able to walk away more confident.

"The sex was really a very small part of it. Once we got to the point that we were 'intimate', we spent way more hours on foreplay than on sex itself. And a big part of it was doing exactly what you and I are doing now - talking, learning to stay relaxed while I helped things stretch without pain."

"Is that what you're doing? That explains it then. But Steven, I don't have vaginismus. What those women had. The involuntary tightening thing. I'm not afraid of you. This isn't going to work."

"Sarah? Are you having any pain right now? I'd just like you to think about how many fingers I have inside you at the moment. It's four, in case you can't tell. I guarantee that if I can get four fingers in here with enough patience, then you are quite capable of having sex with someone my size without pain. I am not nearly as wide as my fingers are right now."

I was floored. Four? That was definitely a first for me. With previous partners, I'd always limited them to one or two fingers, and then only reluctantly. Could I have been wrong, all this time? Had I just not tried hard enough, been ready enough? I'd certainly been ready tonight, after two days of anticipation and as many orgasms in the last hour. As I contemplated, I felt him wiggle his fingers slightly. The fit was tight, without a doubt, but painless. The slight movement finally woke my body up, and the eroticism of laying there for this long just chatting while his fingers were inside me suddenly sparked a tingle in my clit, and a little flood of lubrication over his fingers. Getting the picture, Steven leaned in and kissed me, waiting until I was slightly squirming under him before slowly starting to thrust the invading fingers within my pussy.

As I warmed into the kiss, he curled his fingers forward within me, and suddenly each small thrust was hitting a spot inside me I wasn't aware I had. I had heard of the 'G spot' of course, had even had some lectures from renowned gynecologists and sexual dysfunction specialists on the subject, and had come to the conclusion, with most of the women I knew, that if they did exist, I was born without one. I suddenly learned that I had been wrong. They most definitely did exist, and mine was suddenly on fire. Every touch to that bundle of nerve fibers had me gasping into Steven's mouth, mewling noises rising in the back of my throat. I couldn't breathe, and pulled out of the kiss, panting and trying not to buck my hips. He kissed down my neck, nibbling and licking the sensitive skin, while his hand continued to thrust, ever so slowly and gently. I felt movement, and his thumb twisted to come into contact with the little ball that was my clit.

"I love you, Sarah. Now come for me." He whispered it into my ear, and that was the last straw. The whimpering became a howl, and every muscle I had seized, fire burning through my veins, his hand now pumping in and out of me quickly, if shallowly, his thumb pinching my clit, his breath tickling my neck, as I came. Even the slight pain of my pussy muscles clenching couldn't slow it down. I clung to him, fingers digging in to his shoulders as I shuddered. By the time my head cleared, his hand was out of me, his arms wrapped around me, stroking my hair in a calming fashion while tears streamed down my cheeks.

Finally the tears stopped, and I sniffled.

"So does this make me a client now?"

"Not a chance. I'm just using professional skills to aid me in my personal life. Like you cleaning out your own cuts or assessing your own ankle sprain. Nothing weird about that."

"Hmm."

"Are you seriously concerned?" He rolled us so we were face to face on our sides. He looked worried.

"Yeah...no, not really. Just enjoy driving you crazy."

"You're good at it!"

"You make it easy." We both grinned.

"Sarah?"

"Yes, Steven?"

"You're not too weirded out?

"By the BDSM thing? I suppose that depends."

"On what?"

"Well, are you ever planning on doing it again?"

"No. Like I said - not my kink."

"And would you ever expect me to, oh, I don't know, let you tie me up and whip me?"

"I'd much prefer not to. I suppose if you asked nicely I might consider it." I elbowed him, and he chuckled.

"And you won't mind if I take the initiative sometimes? If I'm not submissive?"

"Mind? I can't wait."

"Then I'm not weirded out."

"So...does that mean I still get the chance to convince you?"

"I'm not going anywhere right now, if that's what you're asking."

"I'll take it."

This time, the kiss only tasted of hope.