Part One: The Genesis Scene
It was summer cleaning time, and I was going through my email account, deleting things past their usefulness, organizing others, downloading some that didn't need to be taking up space any more. In one of the folders, I came across three files, all of them from Shannon, none of them with subject lines. Rereading them, I remembered that they had been written when he and I were still scening partners, and I'd been the inspiration for a least one and probably two of them. A wave of mixed emotions passed over me, a combination of regret and joy and sorrow all bound together with the quiet and incredibly strong love I still bear for him. Suddenly, I was nostalgic for those days, when I was involved deeply with an emotionally abusive partner, and Shannon had taken me in, brought me the sensations I so desperately needed, and provided a release from my life by providing me with a place to experience pain that I knew was by my choice and would stop if I needed it to. An abused child, I'd spent two years facing myself and my attitudes, and I'd known I was ready to have my limits stretched…
…"Would you stay here tonight?" It was the blatant signal I'd been looking for, the night of that party that I'd spent huddled in his room to escape the crowds and the knowledge that my then-boyfriend was down there with one of the women he was fucking at the time. I smiled, and sounding more confident than I actually felt, assented. Not knowing what to expect, I settled down and took off my bra and socks and curled up on his bed. I must have presented an interesting sight, nervous and trembling slightly, and eyes that were pretending to try not to be vulnerable. I knew I was vulnerable, probably more so than I had been in a long time. Shannon and I had had many long conversations about scening with each other--he was a definite top, and I am a bottom both by nature and preference. We'd been mutually interested in scening together for a while, but the opportunity never came up. Now it had, and I was, admittedly, frightened. Because of my past and the boyfriend who kept on pulling me farther into my depression each time I showed some progress, I was a mass of raw emotional nerve endings. A wrong move and I could have been frightened off forever.
Yet Shannon, knowing part of it and somehow sensing the rest, made no wrong moves. He started off by giving me a back rub. I was comfortable with my shirt off around him, having gotten several back rubs from him before, and took off my shirt when he asked. He spent a good half hour working out the knots in my back, soothing away both tension and fear. Then he laid down beside me and we cuddled for a bit, letting me feel safe. We spoke little, and what we did say was in low tones, as if we were trying not to disturb whatever was going on between us. I sighed and stirred. "I do have to tell you one thing before we go any farther with this. There are a couple of things that people have done to me that can send me into a panic attack or worse. One is covering my mouth and nose with anything. And the other one is using a thumb and forefinger on my chin to turn my head."
We were silent for a time, then Shannon asked, "Why? You don't have to tell me, but I would like to know."
"I was abused as a child." I was shaking; I'd only told three people about this so far, and I still had trouble controlling my voice and body when I was speaking of it. "Emotionally and . . . physically."
He pulled me closer to him, wrapping me up in his arms and not speaking for a long moment. "I suspected . . . I think I always knew."
It was at that moment that I began loving Shannon; I'd had a fierce affection for him before, but now it was turning into something else. I lay in his arms, holding on to him, and trembled for a time, shedding tears silently. To this day I don't know if he knew that I was crying.
After a long while, he began to rub my back again, turning me onto my stomach and giving me long stroking sweeps down my spine. Then, I felt his mouth on the back of my neck, kissing me lightly. Then further down my back, still light . . . and then he bit me. It hurt more than anything physical I'd encountered recently, yet it was pain that I welcomed, rejoiced at, pain that proved I was still human, still had kept my capacity for feeling. I gasped in mixed surprise and relief and squirmed a bit; I could not help myself, and I didn't want to help myself.
After a long moment he let go. "Okay?"
"I'm okay," I replied. "More than okay." I was breathing hard, anticipating.
"Good." And with that began an assault on my senses that brought me into a place I'd been before briefly, a space inside my head where I was saturated with white light and buffeted by something that was not exactly happiness but was not sorrow, either. He bit and sucked on various places on my back, finding the most sensitive. "You squirm so delightfully, Kris." He continued with variations on the theme, biting and sucking my breasts, my neck, my stomach; I all the time squirming and moaning and whimpering, and internally exulting. I'd needed this. This was a catharsis, where I could hurt and not be afraid of more pain in retribution for showing pain. Finally, as both of us tired, he pulled me into his arms, telling me what a good girl I was, how wonderful and sweet and pretty I was. And I, for the first time, began to believe it. I drifted off to sleep, tired beyond belief and glowing quietly with happiness. And I knew that this was to be the first of many scenes . . .
Part Two: Breaking the Back of the Beast
The next time Shannon asked me to scene with him, we'd been talking awhile about my senses. I was telling him in particular about how vision interfered with touch; I had been in a play the previous month that featured me as a blind person, and I had practiced blindfolded much of the time. I'd noticed a sharp jump in my sense of touch when my eyes were covered, something I wasn't able to achieve when I had my eyes closed, because I simply couldn't convince myself that I wasn't just about to open my eyes.
"I need to have my eyes covered, and the blindfold I was using doesn't work all that well. I can see out the bottom. You think you could rig something that could blind me all the way?" I knew one of Shannon's hobbies was making bondage gadgets; I'd seen some of them when he was showing the gaming regroup that he ran some of his toys and catalogs.
I should have known by his voice that he had something in mind already. "Come over Saturday at two. Don't wear any earrings or bracelets."
So I was there, standing in the living room of the house he lived in, and he told me to go upstairs, that he'd be up in a minute. I put my things in the corner and sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly. I was nervous, as before anything unknown. It was a delicious ache, something which I recognized that I was quickly becoming addicted to. I consciously straightened my shoulders when I heard him come up the stairs. He might not believe my show of nonchalance, but I was not going to look either scared or broken. Not yet, at least. I wanted to live up to my own expectations of a woman who was in control to the point where she would surrender her control and her whole world to the hands of another, in a conscious decision. I was certainly not going to admit fear to myself. To admit fear would have been to admit that I wasn't currently in control.
I was obsessed with control. From the time I was a very small child, I was taught by the man who abused me that the way to avoid punishment and earn rewards was to be in control. I had been in control of my emotions, my physical reactions, and my internal mental life for so long that it seemed to be my nature. Yet, at the same time, I recognized this as something that was going to kill me eventually. As I'd grown into an adult, my legacy clung to me, and I was involved with a succession of men who were out of control of themselves, in hopes I'd change them. Of course I was unsuccessful, and the person I'd gotten involved with this time was much like my father--an unhappy, brooding boy who would blow up for no apparent reason. I always had to be in control, because it was the only way I could avoid doing something that would make him angry with me. I had to watch each and every step I took, always fearing that I was about to do something wrong.
Control, as much as I loved it for keeping me alive, has its downside. It wound me tight, creating muscle spasms in my back and neck that took days to go away with regular back rubs, weeks if left untended. I was neglecting the rich inner life I had once had--my creative output was beginning to dwindle and become of a much lesser quality. And control hurt. I hated having to think about everything I did, every reaction I showed. I was a reserved, shy person because I couldn't trust myself in public. I had gotten better when I'd come to college, but I was beginning to retreat again. It was only a matter of time before the change I could feel in myself would become permanent.
So I resolved to lose control. It had to be in situations that I chose, situations where it was safe. That meant having someone else in control. And that was one of the things I feared most. Having someone else in control meant that they had the power to hurt me badly. I've made a life out of confronting fear on my terms--the play I had been in was my victory over once-debilitating stage fright, involvement with males was a victory of a deep fear of males in general.
I trusted Shannon absolutely. I had spent enough time with him to know that he would never get angry with me for losing control, and that he would never do anything that was not okay with me. I knew very well that if I ever spoke the word "safeword" that whatever was happening would stop, that I could put a stop to any scene I wanted to. I knew, also, that Shannon would explore my limits, pushing them farther than even I thought they could go. I didn't know where those limits lay, but I wanted to find them and go beyond them. My only rule for these encounters was that he couldn't leave bruises ion places that wouldn't be covered by a t-shirt and jeans.
So here I was, shaking slightly, knowing that I was about to give over control to someone I trusted but could not predict. He came in, closing and locking the door behind him. He said, "Please take off your clothes." I complied while he looked in his closet for the things I'm sure he had set out in readiness for today. The scene had begun, and I knew I was no longer in command. Everything I was was in his control now, and I knew deep down that I would do anything, be anything, endure anything if it meant gaining his approval. I had made the transition easily from independent woman to pet, and I was startled at how much I already liked it. The feeling was both erotic and fearful, and motivated wholly by my love and trust for the person who was now turning to view me.
I am (I can say this now almost without embarrassment) beautiful. In the afternoon light that was filtered through the windows, I suppose I must have been stunning. I have silky, curly dark brown hair touched with fire, creamy white skin that blushes too easily for my liking, freckles, large almond-shaped eyes that change color from green to blue to grey depending on what mood I am in, and a full-lipped mouth that seems to be smirking when it is relaxed. My body, I think, is nothing to prize, but I have been told that my unique combination of hard muscles underneath a cushioning layer of padding and high, small, widely set breasts is most appealing. Whatever the cause, Shannon looked at me a long moment before telling me to lie down on the bed.
With leather strips he secured my hands to the bedpost. He produced the blindfold he had crafted--a simple pair of swimming goggles covered by several coats of black paint. He put those on my eyes, and now, deprived to both movement and vision, I lay in erotic anticipation, unsure of what was going to happen next.
He began simply by stroking my skin lightly, tracing my mouth gently with his fingers and then tracing down to my collarbone. "I don't think we'll do anything too painful today, but I will give you a number of different sensations. Stay quiet." his fingers disappeared from me, and were replaced by a soft, somewhat ticklish, and very pleasant sensation that brushed over my breasts and sides and down my legs. After a moment's thought I identified it as a feather duster, then stopped thinking altogether as Shannon found sensitive spots on my feet and knees. My inner thighs were the next target for the soft brushing, and I squirmed as I felt it, different than anything I'd ever felt before but wholly erotic. Then, the sensation disappeared. I nearly whimpered in disappointment, but then my attention was captured by the different but just as captivating feeling of a bit of silk being rubbed over my skin. He began speaking in a quiet voice. "Now, I'm going to do something to you that will focus all of your attention on your breasts, and keep it there until I make it stop." That was my only warning before first my left nipple was suddenly encompassed by a feeling of pressure, of pinching, of something that was pain, but pain that was so localized and intense that it was extremely arousing. I gasped and whined, squirming. Nipple clamps. He was using nipple clamps. My right nipple was treated in the same fashion a few seconds later. He'd been right, all of my attention was focused on my breasts, and the way they were throbbing and tingling.
He let me slowly accustom myself to this. "There. How is that? You look wonderful ,by the way; your skin is flushed and the look on your face is something to behold. Are you finding this arousing, Kris? Does the pain excite you?" I nodded, discovered nodding moved my breasts just a bit, making the clamps renew the initial intense feeling, and managed to gasp out, "Yes."
He then stopped touching me for a little while. The nipple clamps were, I discovered, wonderful toys. the sensations were causing a dull ache in my groin, and I discovered after a bit that I was getting goose bumps from the feeling. The sensation steadily increased. The longer he left me, the more of my attention was focused on what I was feeling, and the more the feeling grew in response to that attention. Then, he touched me--or rather my nipple clamps. He played with them a bit, rocking them back and forth and twisting them a little.
Then, I felt a new sensation. Something cool and smooth and strange was rubbing along my stomach. I could not figure out what it was, and stopped trying as the new sensation combined with the pain from the clamps to tease me deliciously. The smoothness warmed in contact with my body, so it felt almost liquid against my skin. It traveled from stomach to groin, there to rest a bit and tease some more, then slipped down my inner thighs to brush against the backs of my knees, partially accessible because of my bent-legged position. I squirmed and whimpered quietly, each of my movements adding a jolt of pure feeling to my nipples and making me gasp. I was in a place where I wasn't quite one with my body, a place where the pain had taken me. Again, I was buffeted by waves of emotion too strong to be identified; saturated with white light and pain. Later, I knew that the emotion I couldn't identify was a mixture of love and sorrow. In that moment I loved Shannon totally, and would literally have done anything he asked me to do, not out of need for approval but out of a deep desire to do what he wanted. I remember thinking, "There is nothing more than this I need in the world." I did not cry; I'd gone beyond tears into a realm of consciousness that was peaceful and clear and strangely rational. I had never thought or felt so clearly, and I felt as if everything in my life that was not essential to me had been washed or rubbed away and I was left with nothing but myself and that was pure pleasure, being stripped to the bone. I wanted to stay in that headspace forever.
Then, the smooth sensation stopped and I could feel Shannon contemplating what was next. Anticipation held me still; then came the blow across my face with what I had now identified is a PVC glove that I'd seen in Shannon's collection. The suddenness of it, the shock and the new pain brought me out of my headspace and into a body that was at once painful and very, very aroused. I gasped as it hit, louder than I thought I had, and then let the breath out slowly, expecting to be hit again.
Instead Shannon removed the nipple clamps one at a time, eliciting another gasp from me, this time of relief. "Good girl. Very good girl. I won't do that again; once and all the surprise is taken out of it. How did you like that?"
"It was . . . sudden. A very good finishing move." I couldn't hold my voice still, but I didn't care. "Good timing."
"I thought so." He untied my hands and then took off the blindfold. "This the blindfold work? Was it comfortable?"
"Yes, and very much so." Free now, I turned onto my side, stretched a bit and then curled into a loose ball. Shannon and I cuddled, speaking in low voices. I felt very fragile and yet very trusting. And, over all, very precious. I had not once been treated like I didn't matter, there had been no callousness in the way Shannon had worked with me. I was, for once, completely valued. I sighed and closed my eyes. I had to leave soon, to go out into the world I was constantly at odds with once more, but here I could rest and know that there was nothing that would harm me, not now, not ever. Shannon had told me once that he had created a place that was a haven, completely safe for those he had invited in. I had been invited, had accepted, and was now more at peace than I had been in a long time.