Raw and Broken Ch. 01

Drake was the one to suggest we get a bite to eat before heading to Wheaton. Something inside of me melted a little the first time I heard the timbre of his voice. I could listen to him talk for hours. I settled for forty-five minutes while I picked at my salad. I couldn't believe he was going to the party, too.

In addition to all of his marvelous assets, he had a nice laugh. It made his eyes crinkle on the edges and his smile widen even more. Could he get any more desirable? Why the hell was he still single? And oh, my God, what was he thinking he wanted to do to me every time he looked my way all night?

It was several hours later when I was all alone in my usual guest room at Malcolm's that I finally broke free of the trance Drake had put over me. It helped that Drake was no longer there; I found out he lived in Wheaton as well. I silently thanked Malcolm for not having me model for him tonight. I don't think I could have gotten through the evening if I had. It had been hard enough trying to be the sweet hostess. Every time I'd convinced myself Drake wasn't there, I'd hear his voice, and my knees would shake.

I'd been weak before, but this past year had changed me. Strengthened me. And things were finally looking up with having not only the modeling but also the barista position again. Not to mention I had two great roommates and a cute loft in an artsy part of the city. Plus I had Malcolm's friendship that required no commitment whatsoever.

I had too much to lose. So I resolved that I wouldn't fall for Drake's charms. That's all that they were. I was strong. I could do this.

I lasted two weeks.

But that was only because Drake didn't make it to the munch the next week. Or to Malcolm's party. And I had been asked to pick up a couple of shifts at the coffee shop the following Friday and Saturday.

I was surprised when Malcolm showed up at my apartment Sunday morning. He invited me to a special party at his house at noon. I knew that it must be important if he'd made the trip into the city just to get me. Usually, Sundays were his alone time when he got ready for the upcoming week.

Through our previous conversations, I knew that he was a high school math teacher. With Friday nights at the club and Saturdays being tied up with the munches and his parties—the latter of which he'd apparently rescheduled for this afternoon—he somehow managed to get lesson plans done and papers graded before Monday morning. How he did it all was beyond me.

He seemed so normal. I envied his ability to hide his fetishes unless he felt comfortable letting them out. To control both sides of his life so well. I was amazed that one part didn't accidentally cross over into the other. And I felt honored that he had entrusted me to keep his secrets.

He'd explained to me on more than one occasion about his past experiences within the BDSM scene. Mostly how he had decided to abandon finding a partner so he could focus on helping new Dominants enter the scene and hone their skills. He'd gotten quite the following since opening his doors a year-and-a-half ago. This party today was something he'd wanted me to experience to see if it was something I'd be interested in. He'd planned it for the night before but had pushed it forward due to the conflict with my schedule. I wasn't sure if I should feel flattered or embarrassed.

There were several familiar faces from the club, but only one stood out. Just seeing Drake again made my heart rate quicken despite every attempt to breathe evenly. Our eyes locked, and the corner of his mouth went up. I mimicked him and sighed softly. Okay, I was smitten and he knew it.

Like the munch a few weeks back where I was introduced to needle play, there was no meal, only a short mingling time in the large main room of the basement before a presentation. The demonstrators were a couple named Jacob and Lady Heather. They were switches and alternated who controlled the session. When Lady Heather was the Dominatrix, Jacob preferred to be called her pet, and she treated him as such. It was interesting to see the role reversal with the man as the submissive. It left me more than a little aroused.

I could see what Malcolm was saying. Maybe I would feel better being the one in control. I could set the limits and decide if I wanted to be the one being whipped, as Lady Heather had suggested. While most Dominatrixes inflicted the action on their submissive or slave, they, too, could receive it themselves if they switched roles.

When the show was over, the guests trickled up the stairs. I sought out the restroom while Malcolm said farewell to his parting guests. I found him and Drake in the kitchen discussing various types of bondage, which seemed to be a fetish for Drake as well.

Somehow, the conversation took the three of us upstairs to Malcolm's bedroom on the second floor where he rooted through his chest of erotic accoutrements that was masked as a normal dresser. When Drake said he was curious about using spreader bars, Malcolm raised his eyebrow at me. I shrugged, offering to fulfill my normal role and model it.

Drake's gaze intensified.

I found myself in that same position the following Friday night. It was a long weekend for Malcolm with Spring Break starting on Monday. Instead of going to the club, Malcolm came to get me so we could play with his toys...and Drake. I modeled—fully clothed—while Drake acted out Malcolm's directions. None of it was intentionally sexual in nature, but it still turned me on.

We both stayed over, bunking up in separate guest rooms on the main level. I tossed and turned all night dreaming about Drake—who was only two doors down—and his hands gripping my hips. It had become a regular occurrence. I woke up in a sweat and had to find release with my hand.

Saturday was rainy and cold, and we continued our exploration well past lunchtime. We were trying a combination of ankle, wrist, and thigh cuffs when I asked how long one could normally be secured in a bent position. The guys looked at each other and then at me.

Malcolm ordered a pizza, and after we ate, I was positioned on my stomach on some pillows in the den with my limbs hogtied behind me, the wrist and ankle cuffs connected to the thigh cuffs while we watched a movie. I had just begun to cramp up by the time the credits were rolling almost two hours later. In truth, I was perfectly fine—the slight discomfort stirred my buried desires. But Malcolm insisted on releasing the bindings and letting me get some rest before his party that night.

Drake offered to give me a massage. Malcolm gave some excuse about needing to go grade papers, which I knew was a lie. He left with a wink.

My body shuddered as I sat on the couch between Drake's stretched out legs, facing away from him. He started at my neck. I couldn't help sighing when his strong fingers manipulated my sore muscles. He slowly moved out over my shoulders. The longer they pushed and pulled, the lighter his touch became. The faster my heart beat. The hotter the spark grew inside me.

He turned me to face him and took my left hand in both of his. Our eyes met as he deftly worked out any kinks in my fingers and wrist. His green depths flashed at me.

My cheeks heated as I dropped my gaze to his smiling mouth. When he tugged on my hand, I sucked in my breath, feeling myself fall towards him. Our lips met. His hands held my head.

I moaned, and I didn't resist when he laid me back on the cool leather, still kissing me.

--

The flight attendant's voice asking me to put my tray table in the upright position jolted me from my daydream. I blinked at her and turned to obey, only to squint at the blazing sun reflecting off the airplane's wing through the little oval window. As I lowered the shade, the brightness lingered in my eyes like the memories in my head of Drake's first kiss.

We had only made out that day. It would be another two weeks before I had sex with him. We'd gone on our fourth date: dinner and a movie in the city. My roommates had been gone for the weekend, and Malcolm had said he understood why we weren't coming to his party.

I hadn't thought it was possible, but Drake had Jimmy beat in bed. He was just as long, but he had an extra girth that stretched me. He made sure I was comfortable and enjoyed every second. The best part was, he didn't leave me in the morning.

Drake hadn't been at Malcolm's the night where I was flogged, so he learned by accident that I liked to be spanked. He'd swatted my ass after taking me from behind one night while I laid flat on the sheets. I'd lifted my ass up to him, mumbling for more despite my fatigue, not realizing what I had done until it was too late. There was no going back after that.

But he didn't earn my complete trust until we were together for a year. We were at his house after one of Malcolm's parties. I'd assisted with a leather flogging demonstration, and I was still worked up. He asked if that had been my first experience with being spanked with an item other than a hand. He had borrowed a riding crop and a cane from Malcolm just in case.

Until then, he'd never even suggested doing anything that would intentionally hurt me. He knew that I had been abused by my last partner, but he hadn't pressed for more details. He knew I liked the pain of spankings, but he didn't know how far my masochistic tendencies went.

I'd felt my pulse increase at the thought of more pain. Before I could stop them, my lips were moving. Telling him that I was game to try out what he'd brought. His eyes had widened noticeably, but he hadn't questioned my decision.

The crop was a nice way to work up the flow of adrenaline. Then he switched to the cane. During the first two swats, I had bitten my cheek to keep my emotions in check. When he'd paused and voiced his concern to stop altogether, I should have agreed. I swore I wasn't going to do this again. That I didn't want it. Damn my inner bitch that needed more.

I'd told him to continue. I knew I would regret it if he didn't.

He'd caned the back of my thighs seven times before I could hold it in no longer. I was panting and had tried to control my moans before a scream of pleasure met my ears as an orgasm ripped through my body. I had barely heard the clattering of the cane as he'd dropped it on the hardwood floor. He'd collected himself and fucked me through another orgasm before he found his own release. I hadn't experienced such euphoria in a very long time.

He'd held me afterwards, soothing my cries as I came down from my high. And then we had a long talk about what I liked and he liked. What we wanted out this relationship, both vanilla and kinky. Our sessions—our lives—were never the same again.

Drake had said he wasn't a sadist, but the more often we practiced the art of him inflicting pain, the more pleasure he got out of giving pleasure to me. He was careful as we increased the intensity and prolonged the time involved. Mindful of my emotions and reactions. Protective even when I insisted on more but he didn't want to push it too far so he stopped. I knew he had been studying under Malcolm even in my absences. Surely Malcolm had instilled specific practices in him when it came to me.

Our relationship grew stronger as a result. Primarily because we trusted each other completely. And we had agreed on two simple rules: We would always communicate. And we would always be honest with each other. Both would be our downfall.

My mind focused on the here and now as I made my way through the terminal to claim my ticket that Becca had reserved. I didn't let myself think about what I had done—what Drake had done—until I was back in the air on the way to Philadelphia. There was still plenty of time to consider the consequences.

~ H