Fearless

by Annie Jocoby

  My mind drifted, as it usually did when I was with a guy, alone. I questioned what it was that I got out of these encounters. It certainly wasn’t for the sex. I didn’t much get into that, to be honest. I guess because my mind was never engaged with these men and boys, and for me, even more than probably most women, I had to connect to someone intellectually before I could feel anything at all below the waist. Thus far, no member of the opposite sex, or Alaina for that matter, had been able to reach my intellect, so the sex itself was something that was a bit boring.

  It certainly wasn’t that I was searching for love. I knew well enough that sex, especially casual sex, wouldn’t lead to love. Nor did I want it to. I had standards, even if they were double standards, and any guy who wanted to jump into bed with me, without knowing me, would not be a guy that I would want to be with in the long term.

  So, what was I searching for in these encounters? Was I searching for a way to feel? To overcome my numbness? Was I just trying to not be alone? Did I fear being alone, because being alone was like death to me? After all, the only thing that I could do, when I was alone, was contemplate my failures. What was going to bring me back into the living? Sometimes I despaired that I would ever be brought back into a place where I actually felt like waking up in the morning.

  I could vaguely understand that I was now naked on this man’s couch. This stalker man, who I never would have thought I would be alone with, was with me, about to be on top of me, and all I could think about was when I could get out of that place and get back into my bed. Not that I was entirely unwilling. No, I would not consider this to be a rape. But I wasn’t engaged, either. It was kind of a netherworld, really. A disturbing netherworld.

  I took a deep breath. I tried to put it out of my mind that this man first encountered me when I was underaged, and he apparently had been obsessed with me ever since. I was Dolores Haze to his Humbert Humbert. Lolita was actually one of the books that I devoured when I was in kindergarten, and it was a book that I have constantly referred to in my mind, as I had encountered many, many men like this Nottingham throughout my life. Creepers, every one of them.

  Not that Nottingham was particularly old. On the contrary, he appeared to be only around 30, maybe a bit older or a bit younger. But 30 would be the median that I would assume him to be. But, when he first saw me, I was apparently 17 and he was around 28. So, yeah, if you put it that way, he was a bit of a creeper.

  Now, he was naked. His lips were on mine. He wasn’t a bad kisser, considering. I certainly had worse in my life. His hands were caressing each of my breasts, and, then, well, he got out the handcuffs.

  Oh, great, one of those guys. Well, I’ll play along. Sometimes it was a little bit fun. A guy would get a bit rough, and, to my surprise, these were actually some of favorite encounters. Probably because it wasn’t the same old same old. I appreciated the creativity, if nothing else, although handcuffs were certainly pedestrian in the big scheme of things. But there was a hope that maybe this Nottingham might show a little bit of creative effort that might make this particular encounter a bit more enjoyable.

  He handcuffed my hands behind me, putting the handcuffs behind the posts that were on the arm of the couch. It was one of those modern couches that were ever-so-slightly avant garde, and the arm of it was metal posts that were connected to the couch arm. He raised an eyebrow, and then did the same thing with my legs on the other couch arm.

  Hmmmm, okay. Never been completely immobilized before. This might be more interesting than I initially thought. I felt myself actually start to warm up to this odd man, who really would be considered to be extraordinarily handsome by most of the world. I knew that objectively, so, if I could just concentrate on that and the fact that he had the ability to take some kind of creative initiative, I might start to enjoy myself.

  I laid there, completely immobilized, wondering what was next. I was curious as to what this man might do to me now that he had me completely where he wanted me.

  “Oh, Dalilah,” he said, as he ran his hands completely through the length of my body. “You’re so submissive. I never thought that you would be so submissive to me. Your eyes are so beautiful and passionate. I thought that you might give me a go. But you let me bind you without even a peep. You’re such a contradiction. A beautiful, beautiful, contradiction.”

  Ha. The man actually saw passion in my eyes. Well, he was going to see what he was going to see, but I knew that there wasn’t passion in my eyes, and there hadn’t been in a long, long time.

  “I wonder,” he said. “If you would let me lay you on your stomach and bind you. I would really like to try some things with you, but I can’t leave marks on your front side. That wouldn’t do, because I know that Luke is going to be painting you for a long time to come.”

  Ooooh, marks. He wants to do something to me that is going to leave a mark. I nodded my head, and said “yes, please. I would really like that.” And, I meant that. I had been roughed up before, and even had guys who were really into the sadism thing, and I didn’t mind it one bit. I liked it, in fact.

  And my curiosity as to exactly what this man wanted to do to me was overwhelming. So, I actually rolled over on my own and let him bind my hands and my feet, and I eagerly anticipated what was to come.

  At first, I was a bit disappointed. He had taken the belt off of his pants, and whacked me a few times on my back. I felt the delicious sting, which woke me up out of my ennui, but the creativity of such an act was clearly lacking in my book. It was such a cliché, really. Rich handsome man, into whacking young women on the back with a belt.

  Then, he got out the ice, and rubbed it along the parts of my back that he had clearly marked with his belt. It felt a little bit soothing, although I was quite sure that he was still trying to get me to cry out. After all, it was completely cold on my skin, and it was something that should have been totally uncomfortable. But it wasn’t to me.

  And then he got on top of me, plunging his manhood deep inside of me while simultaneously melting something hot on my back. I had no idea what it was, but he started licking it off while he rhythmically thrusted, so I would imagine that it wasn’t hot wax. Maybe some hot fudge. In which case, I was completely envious that he wasn’t going to share it with me.

  Some more thwacking with the belt came next, and some heavy-duty spanking. This guy wasn’t at all trying to go easy on me. He pretty much got down to the stuff that was really painful. But I appreciated it all the same, because it was making me feel. It was waking me up and putting me in a place where I wasn’t so comfortably numb.

  Of course, I would have preferred to be woken up in a manner that wasn’t quite so self-destructive. But it was a start.

  Anal penetration, sans lube, was next. That hurt like hell. I squirmed a bit, but the pain didn’t last that long. After a little while, even that was more pleasurable than painful. I felt myself breathing hard, the alcohol wearing off, along with just a bit of the veil that had been covering my emotions for this long. I started to cry out, but he tied a scarf around my mouth so that I couldn’t make a sound. He thwacked my butt hard with his open hand while he plunged himself in and out, and then pulled on my hair so that my face was up in the air.

  He removed the scarf from around my mouth, and eagerly started kissing me from behind. I actually started feeling something below the waist, which was something that I never thought that I would. It was tingly and warm, and the pleasurable sensation spread throughout my body. My breathing started coming heavy again, and I started groaning a little. But the groaning brought the scarf over my mouth again, and I had to suppress the urge to cry out in pleasure and pain. Which actually made the pleasurable sensation grow even more powerful. It got to the point where I really couldn’t contain it, but I still had to, for I was completely silenced. Because the sensation could not be dissipated through my crying out, it grew so powerful and intense that it became almost painful. So, that pain, mingled with the general pain of the belt that was once again w
hacking my bare back and butt, coursed throughout my body. Waking up every cell that had been lying dormant. I could almost feel every hair on my body standing up, even moreso when Nottingham reached around to my bare breasts and clamped the nipples with something hard and metal.

  That was the final straw. That pain was what made me finally started shaking my head ferociously, trying mightily to somehow will that scarf that was around my mouth to disappear. But I still couldn’t cry out, so I actually felt hot tears rush down my cheeks. Which made Nottingham bring out another scarf and tie it around my eyes.

  By the time he actually stopped his urgent thrusting, which signaled to me that he had his orgasm, I was actually confused about what I was feeling. But it was something that was wonderful to me, because feeling, period, was a welcome change. I was just happy that I finally felt something that was powerful enough to confuse me.

  He unfastened the handcuffs on my hands and feet, and then untied both the blindfold and the gag. “Just keep laying there for a little bit, Dalilah,” he said. “I’ll be right back with the salve.”

  Oh, right. The aftercare bit. I somehow had forgotten that aftercare was supposed to be a part of the S&M ritual. It was fine, just lying there, though. I really had no desire to move. I had felt the energy drain out of my body again, and I felt myself retreating back to the shell that I was in before all of this began. Which disappointed me greatly. I had imagined, I had hoped, that the awakening that I had felt when Nottingham was inflicting pain on me was something that would somehow survive the night. That perhaps I would finally feel the tingle of excitement that I was so hoping to feel all along.

  But it was not to be. I felt the veil once again cover my sensations and feelings, and I was, once again, comfortably numb. So much so that I hardly felt Nottingham’s fingers gently rubbing some kind of balm on my back and butt. “Mmmm, Dalilah, you look even more delicious to me right now. It’s almost like I have branded you as my own possession.”

  The way that he was talking to me, right at that moment, was turning me off greatly. I was no longer having the buzz that I was feeling when he was savagely tearing my flesh with his belt, so all that I could think about, right at that moment, was escaping. Getting back to my safe haven. Seeing Luke.

  Seeing Luke. That popped into my head right at that moment. Why, I didn’t really know. But there was something about Luke. Luke and his goofy grin, and the way that he shyly observed me while feverishly working his brush on his canvas. His cute little dimples and the cowlick that refused to behave. The gorgeous eyes that were so many different colors, and hid a fierce intelligence behind them. I could feel that emanating from him. He exuded sensuality, warmth and intelligence. Everything that this Nottingham was – cold, cruel, dominating, calculating and more than a little bit perverted – Luke appeared to be the opposite.

  Nottingham continued to rub the balm into my apparent wounds on my back, and was trying to talk to me in a soothing voice. “There, there, Dalilah, this should make you feel better. Take the sting out it. My mother used to say that you should treat a burn with butter. Sounds silly, doesn’t it? You have some burns on your back, and some nasty looking marks that might turn into welts. But I’m not going to use butter. I’m going to use this special salve that has aloe in it and some other ingredients which should cool everything down.”

  I finally spoke. It occurred to me that I had been particularly quiet during this entire encounter. My silence no doubt amounted to acquiescence in his eyes, to everything that he was doing. Not that he would be particularly incorrect about that, as I really was enjoying myself up until the time when he actually stopped inflicting the pain – but I really didn’t consent to any of that. “Thank you, Mr. Nottingham, for putting this balm on me. And, if it’s all the same to you, I would really like to just put on my clothes after you’re finished with this aftercare and go on home.”

  His eyes flashed a look of unmistakable rage. Then he coolly, in clipped tones said “My name is Blake. Mr. Nottingham is the name of my father. And you may have your clothes when I’m ready to let you leave, and not before.”

  Oh, he doesn’t know to whom he is speaking. Like I would ever be afraid to just go down to the lobby of his building and hail a cab, wearing nothing but a smile. Good lord, when I thought about exactly how many people, men and women, had seen me naked, mainly because I had been doing the posing thing for just under a year, even my eyes were about to cross.

  “Okay,” I said, rising to my feet, and grabbing ahold of my purse. “Then I guess that you leave me no choice.” And, at that, I walked to his front door, completely naked, and went out into the hallway. I pushed the button for the elevator and the car was soon there to pick me up. I looked behind me, and Nottingham was running up to me, having taken the time to put his own pants on.

  “Dalilah Gallagher, you get back here right now.”

  I flipped him off, and then pushed the button for the elevator and made my way down. I got off the elevator, and walked through the lobby. There weren’t any people down there, except for the doorman, and I saw him look at me appreciatively but furtively. I smiled at him, and pulled out my wallet and handed him a ten dollar bill. “Your tip,” I said, and I made my way onto the sidewalk. Within seconds, a cab pulled up and I got in. Nottingham, of course, was right behind me, having hoofed it down the stairs, apparently, as he was out of breath. He started beating on the windows of the cab, but I simply told the driver “ignore that rather rude man. Take me to my apartment at……”

  The driver kinda smiled and shook his head. He had seen it all, I was quite sure, so I was also sure that my being naked in his cab didn’t really phase him too much. He pulled off the curb, and, with a screech, he started towards my destination.

  I was quite sure that Nottingham would show up at my apartment in less than an hour. He first had to go back upstairs and make sure his hair looked presentable, and I was also positive that he would have to be fully dressed. Then, and only then, would he get in his car and show up at my apartment door. But, by then, it would be too late. I would already be in bed, under the covers, and I would have the deadbolt locked tight.

  Of course, my prediction did come true. Because I did make my way into my apartment, and actually put on pajamas and got into bed. Within the hour, I heard Nottingham pounding on my door, but I simply got up and got some ear plugs and put them in. I could still hear the pounding and the yelling, but it was muted.

  I did feel sorry for my neighbors, though.

  Before I got into bed, I looked at my texts, and found one from Luke, asking me if I would mind posing the next day. I texted him back that I would be there with bells on, and I could feel the nascent feeling of excitement bubble up once again.

  When the sun rose the next day, I looked down below, and saw that Nottingham’s car was still parked out front. So, I shimmied down the fire escape, knowing that Nottingham had no doubt kept a vigil in my hallway, waiting for me to go out the front door.

  Having made my way down the street level, I got on the bus, and headed down to Willets Point. To the area that resembled a war zone, and couldn’t be further removed from Nottingham’s gleaming penthouse with the gorgeous view of the Empire State Building.

  Yet I knew that I would have much rather be in Luke’s abandoned warehouse than ever step foot into Nottingham’s lap of luxury, ever again.

  Because Nottingham might have awakened something in me, but it wasn’t authentic and it wasn’t long-lasting. The feeling of being awake and somewhat alive only lasted as long as the pain of what he was doing seared my brain. I knew that I was looking for something that was much more permanent than that.

  And, somehow, something told me that Luke might be just the person to supply this.

  Chapter Eleven

  I got to the abandoned warehouse where I was to sit for another session with Luke. It was something that I actually was quite looking forward to, really, even though I had no idea exactly why that would be. I hardly knew this
Luke. There was no reason why I thought that he might be different from any other guy who I’ve encountered, most of whom had, thus far, looked at me as if I was a piece of rare sirloin steak. Like the cartoons I used to watch when I was very small, and actually could appreciate them. The ones where the men were in a lifeboat or something, and they looked at each other and saw a chicken leg or a filet mignon, and started to salivate. That was what I felt like, most of my life, with men. That they would be talking to me, but really imagining what I looked like naked.

  Perhaps that was the underlying reason why I decided to pose nude. Cut to the chase, really. If they were so curious about what I looked like without my clothes off, then they could go right ahead and see, without all the formalities.

  But, somehow, Luke seemed different. He didn’t seem like he wanted to get me into bed first thing. He was casual, insouciant. My curiosity was piqued. I was actually looking forward to getting to know him a little bit better.

  I smiled to myself, as I realized that it had actually been a long time since I had looked forward to getting to know anybody better. How jaded I had become in my relatively short life. It was sad, really.

  I got to where Luke’s studio was, and knocked gently on the enormous wooden door. He lifted it up, and looked at me, and smiled. A genuine smile, like he was happy to see me. I found myself feeling the same about him.

  He was wearing a blue button down and ratty jeans that fit his body quite nicely, really. Other than that, it did appear as if he had just gotten out of bed, as his hair was sticking up in the air with abandon, and he had a bit of a five o’clock shadow. The light was hitting his eyes in just such a way that they appeared bright green, with hints of hazel dancing around merrily. And one thing that was always nice about him was his shoes. They were brown leather and appeared new. I noticed that first about men. Their shoes. My father always said that you can tell a lot about a person by examining their footwear. You can tell if they give a damn, and Luke apparently did.