by Sky Corgan
Prior to that, I had actually been looking forward to the night. I had never been to a play party before, and my curiosity was piqued. Everything I knew about them, I had read in books, but this was far from what I had expected. Chet had warned me beforehand that this wouldn't be a normal play party. Most play parties were small and intimate. This one was all about commercializing BDSM. Either way it would be something new to me. Something different.
Then Micah ended up being there, and it ruined everything. I didn't know the guy, but I couldn't help but hate him for existing. The last time we had encountered him, I had gotten a beating for it. This time probably wouldn't be any different. But it was different. It was so much worse.
Chet had planned to do a scene with me from the beginning, though I doubted this level of intensity had been in the cards. Knowing he was angry made me hesitant to let him strap me into the Saint Andrews Cross, but all I kept thinking was that there were so many people around, surely he wouldn't give it to me as bad as he did at his house. I was wrong though. The first strike across my back with the chain flogger took my breath away, and by about the fifth one I didn't think I could handle it anymore. All of my trust in him dissolved into a puddle of desperation pooling into the pit of my stomach, but all I could do was scream and cry. There was no safety word to free me, and even if there had been, I doubt he would have listened to it. Chet was in the zone, the zone that he got in when he was pissed at the world and wanted to take it out on me. But this was the zone times ten.
Knowing that people were watching made it even worse. I fell out of subspace and into a realm where I was a slave, and he was a tormentor. Spectators watched my punishment for amusement, and the only release felt like death. Part of me wanted to scream for help, but I bit my tongue, knowing that would only make him hit me harder. I would have to ride this out or let it kill me, one or the other, and it certainly felt like the later of the two was more realistic. The man was brutal, and no one was going to stop him.
Every time the flogger cracked across my back, pain consumed me. I felt pulverized, as if the bones in my spine were splintering and the flesh beneath was turning to mush. If a person could bleed to death from superficial bruises, I was pretty sure my time was limited. All I could hope for was that I would pass out from the pain.
I was almost there when the flogging finally stopped. Sounds were growing fainter. There was a white light taking over my eyes. Nausea rose up in my stomach to help distract me from the agonizing pain in my back. In a few more minutes, I would have slipped into sweet unconsciousness. But then the yelling brought me back. Chet yelling. And someone else yelling. Maybe a dungeon monitor. I was in too much pain to turn around, and I didn't have enough hope left in me to care. Soon, Chet would return to torture me for things I'd never done.
Moments later, more masculine voices were thrown into the mix. Angry voices. And then my restraints were being unfastened, and I finally found the will to turn and gaze into the face of a man who was unknown to me. He looked like a bulkier BDSM version of Mister Clean, with serious blue eyes trained on the task at hand. In that moment, he was my savior, my angel, but also just the calm before an even bigger storm that would bloom into a hurricane once Chet got me back home.
For the first time ever, I didn't think I could handle it. Being Chet's submissive was hard, but he had gone too far. My pride of being the only one extreme enough to handle him had faded into dull hatred, but more than that, I was afraid. What if he sent me to the hospital? Being flogged until you were unconscious wasn't acceptable behavior in any of the BDSM books I had ever read. Maybe everyone was right. Perhaps Chet wasn't a real Dom. Perhaps he only used the lifestyle to fulfill his sadistic desires.
When Micah asked me if I wanted him to drive me home, I was a bit reluctant. The look in Chet's eyes screamed in warning rage, but his threat of it being over, the thought of him ending it himself, was so sweet. Despite all that, there was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, not from the beating or thoughts of Chet's retaliation, but from the fact that I was giving up on him. I would be just another page in the history book of submissives that couldn't handle him. What was more important though, my pride or my life?
I swallowed my pride and made my decision, taking the easy way out. My physical pain mixed with emotional pain, and it took everything to hold myself together. People spoke all around me, and I just stood there in shock, staring blankly at the floor until one of the dungeon monitors announced that Chet had left the parking lot, and it was now our turn to depart.
Micah gently touched the back of my shoulder to get me moving, and I shrugged away from him, which only made pain shoot through me. A soft cry escaped my lips, and all I could think about was going home and taking a nice warm shower, though I knew it wouldn't cleanse me of the pain that I was feeling both inside and out. It would be a long time before I healed from this.
As we walked towards the front of the building, I was ever aware of the eyes upon me. What did these women think now that they had seen how bad things could get? Were they judging me? Did this ruin them from ever wanting to try the lifestyle? If I had witnessed such a display, my interest in it would have quickly diminished. I wished I had seen something like this before I had offered Chet my submission. Then I would have known better. Then I never would have gotten into the lifestyle.
When we got outside, Micah directed me toward his truck. Looking at it, my mind was finally drawn away from the events that had transpired and snapped into the reality that I didn't know this guy very well. Was getting into a vehicle with him really the best idea? Perhaps I'd be better off calling a taxi.
He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for me, gazing at me with a strange sorrow in his gorgeous green eyes. For as battered as my body felt, there were parts of me that still stirred with interest. This man wouldn't harm me. He saved me. He had come to my rescue when no one else would, and for that reason, I decided to trust him.
Thankfully, he seemed genuine in his intentions. When he climbed into the driver's side, he asked for my address, plugged it into the GPS, and then drove me back to my apartment, staying awkwardly quiet the entire way.
“Thanks for the ride,” I told him when he pulled up in front of my complex.
“Are you sure you're alright?” he asked, his voice oddly strained.
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“You should let me do aftercare for you.”
“Aftercare?” It sounded like sex to me, and I definitely couldn't handle sex. Maybe a blow job? The guy deserved my thanks, but I was in no real state to satisfy him. Hopefully, he'd understand.
“You don't know what aftercare is?” Micah arched an eyebrow at me.
“No.” I shook my head, feeling stupid.
“I can't just leave you like this.”
“I'm fine. I'll be fine.”
“No. Come on. He beat you pretty badly. You need aftercare.” He killed the engine and got out of his truck.
In confusion, I followed him, a new fear coming over me that he wasn't the guy I had hoped he was. With a sigh, I led the way to my apartment, shoving the key in the lock and opening the door while worrying all the while if I was making yet another mistake. I had not been having good luck with men lately, and these lifestyle guys were the worst, from what I could tell. Pushy, arrogant assholes. All of them.
Micah proved to be no different, brushing past me and going into the bathroom like he owned the place. I tried to keep a scowl from my face as I protectively wrapped my arms around myself and stood awkwardly in my living room, waiting for him to come out so that I could thank him and send him on his way. This aftercare stuff wasn't going to happen. Not tonight, at least.
When Micah emerged from the bathroom though, he completely ignored me, making a beeline to the kitchen. Was that a towel in his hand? I heard my refrigerator door open. What in the hell was he doing?
Frustrated, I came around the corner to see. My face contorted into a look of confusion as I watche
d him pull out several bags of frozen vegetables along with my ice cube tray. Did the guy plan to cook for me?
“What are you doing?” I asked, trying not to sound angry as I watched him go through my kitchen drawers.
“I'm looking for plastic bags,” he replied absentmindedly, finding them only seconds later.
“Why?”
“To put the ice in.”
“Do you need ice?”
“It's for your aftercare.”
“I don't need aftercare,” I grumbled.
“Just let me do this. Okay?”
Stress was apparent in his voice, and I was too tired to argue. I wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, but I decided to leave him to it, returning to the living room to sit on my sofa while he finished up in the kitchen. Every movement was nearly excruciating. Walking. Sitting. Shifting my weight. My back ached like seven hells, and I knew I would be incapacitated the next day. How could I let things get this bad?
Another wave of emotion swept over me, feeling like I had been more stupid than prideful for staying with Chet for so long. All of that time I had been convinced that Chet would never be able to break me, that I was stronger than that. But he had chipped away at me slowly, and while I had never submitted to him fully, I definitely felt broken. That thought depressed me. Thankfully, I didn't have long to dwell on it before Micah came around the corner, his arms full of baggies of ice, frozen vegetables, the bath towel, and several kitchen towels. I gave him a quizzical look as he set it all down on my coffee table, wondering what kinky stuff he had planned. This was definitely going to be creative.
“Take your shirt off,” he told me, his voice all business.
“Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?” I teased with a smirk, though my hands quickly moved to obey.
“That can wait for another time.”
My smile faded from the seriousness of his tone. This guy was no fun at all. I had just been trying to lighten the mood. The last thing I needed was another asshole in my life, especially after what had happened.
“Lay down on the sofa,” Micah instructed once my shirt was off.
“I'm not sure I can handle laying on my back.”
“I don't want you to lay on your back. That would defeat the purpose. On your stomach.”
I tried not to grumble as I did as I was told, feeling stupid all over again. What a demanding prick. The only thing he had going for him was looks. Otherwise, he was probably just Chet in a different package. The thought made my skin crawl. Once I paid this debt, it would be over, and I'd never have to see him again. I'd never have to see either one of them again. I was done with the lifestyle. They could keep their bullshit attitudes and abuse.
I felt like a broken doll laying on the sofa, staring out into space. Micah leaned forward and gently unclasped my bra. Then he bent over me, and I felt the fluttery sensation of his lips touching my back. Though his kiss was extremely gentle, my entire body tensed in confusion. What was he doing? I thought about asking, but I wasn't in the mood for a smart-aleck remark, so I just laid there silently while he placed a line of gentle kisses over my bruised skin.
After a few moments, it actually began to feel soothing, and I found myself relaxing, closing my eyes and focusing on all the sensations surrounding me: the softness of his breathing, the warmth of his breath, the soft touch of his lips. He was being oh so careful not to hurt me. I melted, feeling all the negativity I had been clinging to for the past few hours slowly dripping away, as if he was siphoning it out of me with his kisses. While there was nothing erotic about what he was doing, I couldn't help but feel stimulated on a deeper level. It had been a long time since a man touched me with kindness. Not since before Chet.
The kissing treatment went on for a good fifteen minutes. I was amazed at how thorough he was, making sure not an inch of bruised flesh was left untouched. There was a strange feeling of healing from his actions, though I was sure that it was all in my head. I was just happy to be lying there, not having to do anything.
When he finally straightened himself, and I felt his breath leave my back, I sighed contently, showing my appreciation. Whether he noticed or not, I couldn't tell. He twisted around to face the table, taking the baggies of ice and wrapping them up in kitchen towels before gently laying them across my back. My body stiffened from the cold sensation, completely removing the calm I had felt before.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“This should help it feel better and heal faster, though I should have done it as soon as we got here,” his voice had softened, and I stared up at his face in admiration. He was . . . caring for me . . . taking care of me? I didn't really understand.
When he finished placing the ice baggies on my back, he used the towel to wrap the bags of frozen vegetables, then covered up the rest of the injured area. The coldness wasn't the most pleasant feeling, not like the kisses, but I figured he knew what he was doing. Maybe he was a nurse or something. Again, I was reminded of how little I knew about this guy, though the thought didn't bother me as much as it had before.
Micah stood up and looked down at me. There was a distinct bulge in his jeans. Had kissing my back actually given him a hard-on? My mouth threatened to twist into a smirk, but I didn't want to embarrass myself by making it obvious that I was checking out his package.
“I know you're tired, so I'm going to show myself out,” he said. “Leave that ice on your back for fifteen minutes and then take some ibuprofen. In twenty-four hours, you can start applying heat instead of ice. Eat foods rich in vitamin C, like pineapple and bell pepper. All of that will help the bruising heal faster.”
“Are you a doctor?” I quirked an eyebrow at him.
“No. I'm a health insurance salesman.”
Well that's a bit disappointing. Good looking and a doctor would have been too much to ask for.
“Thanks,” I replied quietly, “for everything.”
“No problem. I couldn't just stand there and let him keep beating you.
“Chet said it was over, but I'm sure he'll try to reach out to you again. Be smart and don't fall for it. He'll make all sorts of promises, but know that if you cave in, you'll just be setting yourself up for more of the same treatment. This is a game guys like him play. Catch and release. Don't be prey.”
“I won't.”
And with that, he left. My mind was reeling from what had just happened. He hadn't asked me for sex or anything else in return for saving me. The aftercare wasn't kinky at all. Guilt flooded my mind for ever thinking so critically about him. Then again, he was a guy, and one I didn't know well. What else was I supposed to expect, especially after he asked me to take off my shirt and unclasped my bra. It had been going in that direction, hadn't it? He had an erection, so I know he was thinking about sex at some point.
Despite my exhaustion and pain, there was a small part of me that was a bit sad he hadn't hit on me more. Micah was sexy and dominant and sweet. Dominant. No, Talia. No more guys like him. They're just bad news. No more being a submissive.
CHAPTER FOUR
Another deposit for my spank bank. Soft tan skin, oh so kissable. I licked my lips as I drove home from Talia's apartment, feeling proud of myself for being so restrained. The whole time I had been kneeling there giving her aftercare, impurities were raging through my mind. I wanted to hold her and tell her that everything would be alright, woo her into sleeping with me. It probably would have worked, but I wasn't enough of a dick to fuck her when she was obviously in pain. That wouldn't have felt good for her, and she deserved to feel good, especially after what that asshole had put her through.
There was a sense of relief in knowing they had split up, though it was probably unmerited. She was a sweet girl, but I doubted she'd learned her lesson. They never did. Give it a few days, and she'd be back with Chet. I just hoped I wouldn't have to see it.
One thing was clear to me, he had poisoned the area lifestyle completely. There was nowhere I could go that he wouldn't be. That was
enough to keep me out of it permanently. All I would have to think about next time I got the itch to dip my toe back into the BDSM world would be his ugly face waiting for me. We'd likely attack each other on sight from now on, like rabid dogs driven by pure mad instinct. Just thinking about the guy pissed me off. That was done and over with though. If I could avoid the lifestyle, then I could avoid him. It should be that easy.
I went home and took a shower, washing away the stench of sweat and blood. When I felt sufficiently clean, I lathered up my cock and went to work draining out the rest of the night's tension. It was hard to focus when my mind kept drifting back to the bruises on Talia's back. Even while I kissed her skin, it changed colors. She'd be lucky if she could walk the next day. A few ice bags weren't going to do the trick, but hopefully they would help some. I just wished I could have done more for her. If she was mine, I would have stayed there and tended to her every need. If she was mine, she never would have had those bruises to begin with.
After the shower, I stood in front of the mirror to examine my own injuries. There was a cut inside my mouth where my cheek had made contact with my teeth when Chet punched me, and I had a dark contusion forming on my shoulder blade, though it was minor in comparison to the ones that he had put on Talia. Just thinking about it made me angry, but I had done my part to save her. It was up to her to save herself now.
***
A new week began, and I felt fairly content with myself. The draw to the lifestyle had decreased tremendously now that I knew the drama awaiting me. Besides, I really didn't think I could stand to see Chet and Talia together. Even the thought of it sent anger rushing through me that I knew I didn't want to see amplified. They were out of sight and out of mind, and my life was better for it.
