Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

Every woman wants to know that her Dom or her Master is the way he is because of some fucked up past; a past so dark that he has to inflict pain in order to hide from it. They want that to be so because they feel like taking the pain they give will somehow rid him of his demons and then they can live happily ever after, blah, blah, blah.

  While some men have gone through their fair share of shit that causes them to hide behind a mask of dominance and control, some men like Marcus, Phillipe, even my brother Matt, just enjoy BDSM because it’s a fun, deep method of sexual expression. To give over trust is about the sexiest thing a woman can do sexually for a man. For a woman to put her pleasure in the hands of a man is such a major turn on for both the man and the woman…and a very large responsibility for a man to undertake. That’s why this life isn’t for the weak-willed or the insecure.

  The weak-willed is unable to take full control of the situation and will possibly try to put on a front in order to please his subject. This will not bring him pleasure and sure as shit won’t bring his subject pleasure either. The insecure man undertaking this responsibility is a walking, talking impostor. He has delusions of grandeur that he is in charge and will, thus, abuse the power given him; hurting his subject in the process. Those are the kinds of guys who sometimes jump into a TPE relationship and end up abusing their subjects.

  Then, there are others, like me, who are born this way: commanding and dominant with a flair for uniqueness; and one can’t get more unique than with BDSM.

  I shift Delilah onto the bed and lay next to her as I tell her something I’ve never told anyone. Not my brother. Not Marcus. Maybe Phillipe has an inkling, but I would never divulge something like this to him.

  “From an early age, I yearned for something more than what I saw in everyday life,” I begin. “I was always searching; searching for a new sport to play, new ways to get in trouble, searching for something new to grasp my attention…just searching. My parents – my Mom – thought I had ADHD, had me go see therapist after therapist with all of them telling her that I was a normal boy, just enjoyed a challenge and adventure.”

  Delilah is smiling wistfully, probably thinking of me as a boy. I start to wonder, too, if I had met her as a child, would she still be part of my life, would she have had all those nasty, horrible experiences that helped shape her life? It’s a daunting thought, one I refuse to think further on. Everything is as it should be. I have her now and that’s all that matters.

  “When I was fourteen,” I continue, loving this memory. “I had gone to France on another family trip. We went to my Uncle Alexander’s chateau. Oh, fuck, you gotta meet him, D.”

  “Your Mom’s brother?” she asks, intrigued.

  “My Dad’s younger brother. They’re like ten years apart, night and day the two of them,” I answer.

  “Hm, like you and Matt?”

  I don’t have a comeback for that…which disturbs me. My brother is fun and energetic. Me? I’m…fuck, I’m just like my Dad.

  “You’re nothing like him,” Delilah whispers earnestly, tugging my chin to look at her.

  I believe her. “Thank you,” I tell her, leaning in to place a soft kiss to her lips.

  “Okay, buddy,” she chimes in, pushing me away before the kiss gets deeper…which it would’ve. “Continue, please.”

  I smile and clear my throat. So thirsty for information, I think to myself.

  “Anyway, we’re there and I have my first sexual experience with his maid, right? I was proud of myself, because even as a kid – a tall kid back then, I looked about sixteen – I still brought her pleasure. But, I still felt like I’d needed more. I went back when I was sixteen again, more experience, still searching for more. You’d think sex with an older woman would be just the thing to quench me, but after a few more goes with her, I grew bored. Not that she wasn’t good at what she was doing, because even as I think back on that memory, she was fucking mind blowing…”

  “Hey, don’t think too much on that memory, now,” Delilah warns. I just chuckle.

  She doesn’t.

  My sweet girl is jealous. Cute.

  “Anyways, she was mind blowing, but I wanted more. One night, and it was possibly around 3 a.m. at night, I was feeling restless and decided to go down to my Uncle’s game room to play videogames. I had passed by a door that was always locked, but this time the lock had been opened. So I opened the door and realized that there were steps leading down somewhere that I could hear voices. I took them and the closer I got, the more I could hear counting and what sounded like crying and a whipping sound.

  “I stopped at a column that hid me from view and what I saw was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen and immediately I knew that I wanted that.” Even now the memory still tents my pants like it did when I was sixteen. Fuck.

  “I saw the maid tied to what I now know as a St. Andrews Cross and my uncle wielding and black leather whip. He was shirtless and sweating, his hair ruffled with the effort of his dominance. After a few seconds, I was terrified for her, because I thought he was hurting her. After all, the woman did fuck my fourteen and sixteen year old brains out.”

  Delilah laughs at that and so do I. She snuggles closer to me and throws a leg over mine, making me feel such comfort; so I snuggle closer to her as well and continue my memory.

  “As I stepped from the column to stop what was going on, I heard a familiar sound from Genevieve – that’s the maid. She moaned deep into her throat and when I looked at her face, it was contorted in pleasure, but not the same kind of pleasure it was contorted in when she had slept with me. No, something much more powerful, transcendent even, and I wanted that – to put that look on every woman’s face. I felt the surge of power in my bones that day, that dominance that was lying beneath the surface sprang forth and encompassed my brain, locking things in place. I felt alive. I knew I was made for it and there would be no turning back from it after that.

  “It was such a powerful thing to witness that I started jacking off right there and within seconds, I was grunting out my release. Sadly, my uncle heard me and mortification took over both of us. I dashed out of there so fast you would’ve thought my dick was on fire.” I shake my head, the memory still embarrassing.

  Delilah snorts out an unladylike laugh and it is so infectious that I start laughing too.

  “What’d your uncle do?” she asks through fits of amusement, at my expense.

  “The next day he comes into my room and explains what I saw, tells me I can’t tell anyone and that I must never, never, ever, do something like that,” I respond. “I was a pretty stubborn kid back then…and an asshole. So I told him that I wouldn’t do anything until I was seventeen, which would be when he would begin training me. He started to refuse and I blackmailed him.”

  “Oh, God,” she starts laughing again and snorting. “You were a little shit!”

  “Ha! Yeah, I was.” I always get what I want, even back then. My uncle couldn’t afford for his secret to come out and I couldn’t afford not to learn from him.

  “Anyway, when I turned seventeen, I went back to France for a weekend, and that’s when my training started, which was just a bunch of rules I had to know, jargon I had to understand, practices I had to make sure I knew about. When I turned eighteen, Uncle Alexander gave me another trip to France – in the middle of the school year. For my birthday, he brought me to a Dominatrix. He wanted to see if I was really made for this.

  “He thinks that a man is only ever ready to enter into a D/s relationship, if he feels what the woman feels. If he can’t handle it, he has no business dishing it out or pursuing that lifestyle. I’m happy to say that I survived, and not only did I survive, I was the first person to ever dominate Marguerite. She told me there was something special and different about me that would make me a great dom. Problem was, with all this knowledge and experience I had no one to practice on. The girls in my high school might have been trampy, but they weren’t kinky. So my proclivities had lain dormant until Janie, my ex. From there,
I never looked back, except for that one time when Janie and I broke up.”

  “Wow,” she breathes in wonderment. “That is a fucking awesome story.”

  “Not a story, baby,” I enlighten her. “That’s my life.”

  I realized something in that instant. I had always been searching, all my life, but didn’t know what for. I thought I’d found it with my sexual proclivities but now I know. It was her. I’d been searching for her all along. I’d never been fully satisfied with BDSM, to be honest, no matter how much pleasure it brought me. Here, now, in this moment with Delilah curled up next to me, I’ve found what I’d been truly looking for. Her. Happiness. Love.

  Delilah absorbs everything I’ve told her. After moments of silence, she nods thoughtfully, then speaks…truly speaks.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  “My first experience of someone I was dating physically laying their hands on me was Rick,” she reveals in a voice that tells me it had nothing to do with sex.

  I grit my teeth and squeeze her tighter because the mere mention of his name has me one part relieved to have her here with me and three parts in barely contained rage. How a man could lay a hand on a woman with no intention of pleasing her is beyond me. Men who hit women out of jealousy, rage and abusive dominance should get a taste of their own medicine and see how it feels.

  “I didn’t know there was any other reason for it. I antiquated a slap to punishment or displeasure. So the first time Jared smacked me on the ass, I sorta attacked him,” she continues, snorting softly. “He’d said he was going to try something, but I never imagined it would’ve been that, or that I’d react in the way that I did.

  “I was like a wild fucking animal. I was completely naked, slightly bent at the waist, with my palms flat on the dresser. He was naked as well, his cock rock hard–”

  “Yeah, no, baby,” I stop her. “I seriously don’t want to hear about another man’s cock or I’ll have to put you over my knee.”

  She laughs but I don’t, because I’m serious about that shit. I wish to God that she was still a virgin; that I was the only man she’d ever been with; that I marked her when no other man got the privilege. Hearing her talking about another man and his cock…another man and his cock that she loved? Yeah, not the easiest thing to hear without going nuts.

  “Aw, don’t be jealous, baby,” she soothes, rubbing her hand across the ridges of my stomach.

  I almost want to throw a tantrum and ask if his abs were as defined as mine or if he was as good in the sack as I was, but I don’t want to play that game. The guy’s dead so there’s no need for me to compete with a dead guy.

  “Just continue with the story, D,” I entreat her, rolling my eyes.

  “Not a story, baby,” she corrects me…the same way I did her. “This is my life.”

  And my heart breaks for her.

  The sorrow, the pain, the hurt, the stress, the fear – that had been her life for a very long time. I look at the deceased Mayhew with more respect now as I realize that he had been a salve for her. He helped to bring her out of darkness. I can see why she fell in love with him, and now, I don’t feel so jealous anymore. I’m honored that I could be named among the men who saved her; whom she loves, especially since there are only two of us.

  A smile breaks out on my face and a peace settles in my heart as she continues to speak about her first and only venture into a D/s relationship. It was pretty similar to what we have, but different in ways that mean the most to me. I’m happy to know that our relationship is unconventional. We have an explorative relationship; one where she doesn’t need to address me as Sir or Master or where I need to bring her pain in order to get off. In times past, that shit would bother me. Now? Now I couldn’t give a fuck, because what we have…works.

  As she talks, I thank God that she is opening up to me, that she is allowing me inside. It’s a small victory in which I will delight.

  She finishes talking and I am even more proud of her that she doesn’t cry. Jared is becoming a sweet memory now, rather than a heartbreaking loss.

  “I love you,” I tell her with utmost pride in my voice.

  I feel her smile against my chest.

  “I know.”

  Delilah

  Telling Ben about my experiences with BDSM and how Jared had freed me of my fears felt like a step in the right direction. It might not have been deep, intricate stuff about my childhood or Fiona, my birth mother, but it was something.

  He understands me just a little bit more, as I do him. He’d divulged so much about himself that it’d felt right letting him further in. Day by day, Ben knocks down a part of the walls I have constructed around myself. He is freeing me…even from the memory of Jared.

  There were times in the past when I couldn’t even think of Jared without bursting into tears; but now, that’s changing. I am Ben’s and he is mine. I’ll tell him more, but for now, that’s enough.

  Rachel, Delilah, and I decide to have breakfast at a nearby restaurant. Marshall had left after the late night booty call. As we eat, I grill Rachel about both of them. She insists that things are still complicated between them and that she doesn’t want to talk about it. I figure that there is some history there. I end up telling her that I know she loves him and from the way he looks at her, he loves her too; that it’s only a matter of time before they stop fighting their feelings.

  Rolling her eyes, Rachel dismisses everything I say, at which point Delilah breaks out with a horrible rendition of Can’t Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon. I am not ashamed to say that I joined in with her. We both got bread in our faces for that, but it was rewarding teasing her.

  After breakfast we cab it to our house in Belmont, not disturbing Simon as Delilah requested. In a stroke of fate, we get the same cab driver that I had taken after the paparazzi scare, who proceeds to tell the girls how much of an asshole I was to people that morning.

  “Yeah, he can get a little crabby at times,” Delilah comments, smirking at me.

  The rest of the cab ride is spent laughing and talking, just an all-round great morning.

  Now at home, we find the kitchen lively as has been the norm since the Keyes’ have been here. Mrs. Keyes is entertaining as only she can. Entering the kitchen, we find the Keyes, my brother, my parents along with Vivian in the kitchen. As we step in, the conversation ceases and they all turn their attentions to us.

  Marshall takes a sharp breath when he sees Rachel, a dark, hungry look passing over his face. I know that look. Rachel stops in her tracks as she stares at him and, like an imaginary force, she practically runs into Marshall’s arms and he holds her tight, whispering something in her ear. Yeah, very obvious that those two love each other.

  My mother is glaring at me, but when she sees Delilah and me holding hands, she softens. Matt is the first to break the tension.

  “Bro!” He comes over and pats me on the shoulder, then bends down to place a quick peck on Delilah’s cheek.

  “Hey, lips to yourself,” I warn.

  “Fine,” he huffs, but smiles widely in Delilah’s direction.

  Usually, a smile like that, filled with the Hayes charm, would have a woman swooning, but not Delilah. She simply rolls her eyes at him, gives him a you’re-pathetic pat on the shoulder and saunters over to her parents.

  I snicker at his, once again, failed attempt at wooing my beautiful girl and he pushes me in the arm; thus starting the famous Hayes boys’ shoving match.

  After being pinched by my mother, we all venture out to the pool while Delilah goes up to our room. At some point in time, the grill comes out and dad is manning it in his Taste My Meat apron and chef’s hat, Mr. Keyes overseeing with a beer in hand. My Dad hasn’t been this relaxed in years.

  Delilah.

  I swear she has brought out the best in everyone…especially me.

  Like I conjured her, Delilah appears. Wrapped in an ocean blue and aquamarine sarong and gold halter top bikini with a hoop holding the front of the top together in bet
ween her breasts, she struts over to the poolside. I’ve never seen her in a bikini and God, she looks mouthwatering. Her hair is in a high ponytail that exposes her succulent neck. I don’t take my eyes off her when I take a swig of my beer, trying to cool down my rising temperature.

  She unwraps the sarong from her waist, revealing gold bikini bottoms, with hoops on either side of her hips that hug her ass in a seductive way. She descends the steps into the pool like a swimsuit model and my cock starts to buck in my pants.

  Delilah extends her body on a short, but sexy dive into the water and starts swimming. Her strokes: slow, long…tantalizing. That’s when I notice the hush that has fallen over the group of men standing with me – all eyes trained on Delilah.

  Geoff swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob and his lips quiver. Cole’s eyes have glazed over with lust. Matt licks his lips slowly and I don’t have to look down to know why there’s a blush creeping over his cheeks. We are brothers, after all. Only Simon doesn’t seem affected…or is trying hard not to be…or is disguising just how affected he really is. Either way, he’s a smart man.

  “Will you guys stop ogling my woman?” I grumble. “Before I fire the lot of you,” I threaten.

  The gentlemen straighten up, clearing their throats, and the haze of lust they are in. Except Matt, of course.

  “You don’t employ me, so I’m getting my fill, lucky bastard,” Matt argues, staring unabashedly.

  “Fuck you, brother,” I snap.

  “Direct all fucking to that fine piece of ass in the swimming pool, bro,” he says, tipping his bottle in Delilah’s direction, still entranced. “I think I’ll go take a swim.”

  “No, you fucking will not,” I murmur, finishing my beer and stalking away to get changed.

  When I get back outside, I see Matt chatting up Delilah while she’s in the pool. Huffing, I dive in, splashing him in the process, and swim the short distance to my lady.

  “Hello, handsome,” she greets with a smile.