by Sienna Parks
Without ballet to help her cope, she needs the Master/sub dynamic now more than ever, to help her deal with her emotions. She needs the intimacy that comes from entrusting her pleasure to me, and I want that, too, but I feel helpless, because I just can’t give it to her right now.
Vittoria is a walking oxymoron – a dominant submissive. Being a submissive is a power play for her. She has absolute control over what a man can and can’t do to her – what I can and can’t do to her. She sees BDSM for what it really is, or at least she used to. The Dominant may only exercise complete control over his submissive, within her parameters. She creates a framework which allows her to give herself over to me in safety. She will do whatever I ask of her, but only after setting the boundaries.
This is the way it should be for all submissives, and I have always tried to teach the women I’ve trained, that submission to another human being, is the ultimate act of strength.
There was a time that Vittoria understood that in its entirety, but she’s lost her way, and I’m to blame for that. She’s my responsibility, and in the time that she’s been mine, she’s become an addict, lost her career, tried to commit suicide, and then turned to another Master for help.
If it was anyone else, I would walk away and let her find a Dominant that could help her find herself again, but I know, that if I abandon her now, despite my failure, it could push her over the edge. I need to help her reconnect with her life, I owe her that. I want that for her, and at my core, I’m a selfish man. I can’t give her up. I need her so much it hurts, even though I can’t seem to get over what she did, and it’s tearing me apart.
I am being crushed from the inside out by the guilt of how badly I’ve handled all of this. I should have seen it. I should have been with her. I’m supposed to know her better than anyone, but now, I feel like I don’t know her at all, and yet I still crave her. She still calls to something deep inside of me.
I go in search of her, because I just need to be near her, and as I walk down the hallway and into our bedroom, I can hear crying coming from the bathroom. I run to the door and turn the knob, but it’s locked.
“Baby, open the door.”
“I can’t.” Her voice goes stone cold. “Go away, Logan. You can’t help me.” A chill runs through me. She doesn’t sound like herself, and it terrifies me.
“If you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it down.”
Silence.
“Please, Nyx.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a goddess of any kind. I’m broken. I can’t be fixed.” I can tell from her voice, that she’s at the other end of the bathroom, so I take a step back and kick the door in. I can’t take this distance between us anymore.
I stop dead in my tracks; the door broken and smashed, just like my heart.
I find her sitting on the floor with a pair of sharp, metal tweezers, scratching a line into her thigh. Her flawless skin now marred by three perfectly parallel deep red lines, each one around four inches long. She’s staring at the floor as she carries out the repetitive motion, scratching her skin, over and over again until it bleeds.
I drop to the floor in front of her. Grabbing the tweezers out of her hand and scooping her up into my lap.
“What are you doing to yourself? Baby, this isn’t the answer. Hurting yourself isn’t the answer.”
Her body is rigid in my arms.
“I’m bad, Logan. Bad things happen to bad people. I’m… he knew. He knew I was bad. I can’t dance anymore, its God’s punishment. You don’t want me anymore because you know, you know I’m right. I’m damaged, and bad, and you hate me now, just like I hate myself. That’s why you can’t look at me.”
Her tone is so cold and yet her speech is frantic. I’m losing her. I stand up, still cradling her, and walk out into our bedroom. I lay her down on the bed, and hold her face in my hands, forcing her to make eye contact with me, but she shuts them tight.
“Open your eyes, Nyx. Now.” I know she’ll respond to her submissive name; she craves my control. “You are not bad. There isn’t a bad bone in your body.” She tries to pull away. “Nyx. Look. At. Me.” She obeys, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You… are the most amazing woman I have ever met. I knew the moment I saw you, that you were special. That you were too good for me.” Her tears spill over and down her cheeks. “I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and the moment that I first tasted you, I knew that I would never recover, that I had tasted heaven. You need to hear me when I say this – God is not punishing you. Something terrible happened to you. Something that no little girl should ever have to deal with. You got through it, and grew up into this strong, confident woman. You became the most gifted dancer I’ve ever seen, and because it meant everything to you, you pushed through the pain. I can understand that. It’s awful and so wrong that you had to give up what you love, but you have to keep living. You can’t give up on yourself. You have so much to give. You are so much more to me than just a dancer. I don’t love you any less because you’re not a ballerina anymore. I know you’re going to find another passion. Something that you love, and that brings joy back into your life.”
Her sobs become uncontrollable, and I question if this is helping her, but I persevere. I finally tell her about my dream of becoming a musician, the deal, my mom, the anger I felt for such a long time. I explain to her how I found a way to still be a part of the industry I love, and how I’ve made peace with it. I know it’s horrible that her career has been cut short, but she got the chance to live her dream for years, touring the world and performing with the best ballet company there is. Not everyone gets that opportunity.
“You can’t keep shutting it all out, Tori. You need to feel. You need to feel all of the hurt, pain and loss, and to grieve. Then, you find a way to let it go and move on with your life. You don’t need to do it alone. I’m here for you every step of the way. Don’t say that you’re bad or that you’re being punished, ever again. You are mine. You are worthy of love, and success. After everything that you’ve overcome and achieved in the face of adversity, you deserve the best that life has to offer, and if you’ll let me in, I want to be the person to share all of that with you. I love you. You will always be mine. I’m sorry I haven’t shown you that lately, but that’s my issue, not yours. Please, Nyx. Please, don’t hurt yourself.”
I lie down on the bed beside her and pull her into my chest. Her tiny body shaking as she cries, strangled, anguished pleas for the pain to go away. It’s heartbreaking to witness, but there is nowhere else I could ever be.
There are so many unanswered questions going round in my head, and I have to ask the most important one and I cradle her in my arms. “How long have you been hurting yourself, Tori?”
Her words are a whispered confession. “Since the night you found me in Liam’s playroom. Never hard enough to draw blood before.”
I pull her tighter. “Fuck. This is my fault. If I had been paying closer attention to you, I would have seen it, but instead I was pushing you away.”
She lifts her head, her eyes finding mine. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Why, Tori? Why would you hurt yourself? I don’t understand.”
It’s a few minutes before she replies. “I feel like everything is boiling up inside of me all the time, and it’s so overwhelming, and so painful. I have no way to let it out. But, there’s something about that moment when I scratch into my skin; it’s like releasing a valve. The pressure I feel inside dissipates, if only for a little while. I can switch it all off. Focus on that small patch of skin, that small, but intense amount of pain. Excruciating, but euphoric. It’s not the same as the pain of a punishment. I control it. But, the elation is short-lived. Within minutes, I look at the mark that’s left behind, reminding me of my weakness, and it’s like an anvil slamming back down onto my chest. Does that make any sense?”
I’ve been holding my breath. Listening so intently to every word that she chooses to share with me.
&
nbsp; “I don’t know what to do with it, Logan. With all the pain, all the emotion, and all the grief.” She starts sobbing uncontrollably, and all I can do is hold her. I feel so impotent.
“Shhh. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’m going to help you. We’ll figure it out… together.”
She cries herself to sleep in my arms, whispering words of how dancing was her life, her soul, her everything. I lie with her for hours, cradling her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, trying to figure out a way to help her.
I stare at her leg, the lines of dried blood ripping into my soul. It kills me to see how much she’s hurting; to hear how she sees herself. I wish I could let her see herself through my eyes, even for a moment. She’d know how amazing she is, how loved and cherished she is; how her smile makes my pulse race, even when I’ve been keeping her at arm’s length.
I slowly extricate myself from her embrace, careful not to wake her, going in search of my first aid kit. I’m sure there’s one in here somewhere. When I find what I need, I quietly make my way back to our room, and cautiously tend to her wounds. She moves around a little when I put some antiseptic cream over the cuts, but she doesn’t wake. I place a small gauze pad over all three marks and tape it in place, before grabbing a blanket from the closet and covering her to let her rest.
That’s when I realize… I know what I have to do.
“Logan? Where are you?”
I look at my watch. She’s been asleep for almost four hours, and I’ve been in here most of that time, preparing. I quickly finish up and head out to find her. She sees me closing the door to my playroom.
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
She looks sheepish. Her hand moving over the small bandage on her leg. “I’m feeling a little better. Thank you for taking care of me. I know it’s not easy.”
I can’t stand not being able to touch her, so I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her small frame. “It’s my job to take care of you. Loving you is as effortless as breathing.” I kiss the top of her head. “Do you trust me?”
She holds me tighter. “Yes.”
“Then come with me.” I lead her back to the playroom, opening the door to let her see what I’ve been doing.
The room is empty.
She turns, confusion etched on her flawless features. “What? Why? Don’t you want to be my Master anymore?”
“No, no, no, baby. You’ve got it all wrong. I will always be your Master, and the playroom will be returned to its former glory. But, I need you to do something for me first, and that required the room to be cleared, and the mirrors to be rearranged along the back wall.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m going to ask you again. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, Master Fitzgerald.”
“Strip down to your underwear.” Without hesitation, she removes her clothes leaving only a black lace bra and matching panties. “I want you to dance for me.” I take the remote from my pocket and start the music. Love Runs Out by OneRepublic starts blaring through the speakers.
Vittoria drops to the floor, covering her ears.
“Make it stop. No. I can’t do this. You know I can’t dance anymore. Why would you do this to me?”
I stand over her. “Stand up, Nyx. NOW!”
“NO! You can’t make me.”
“You will stand up now, and obey me. I am your Master, and if you don’t do as I say, I will punish you. I will not tolerate an insubordinate submissive any longer. It stops now. I know what you need. You need to respect me, and if you can’t do that, then go. I don’t want you here.”
Her eyes fly up to meet my gaze.
“You don’t mean it.”
I want to tell her that I could never leave her; that she’s a part of me, but I don’t.
“Try me.”
She covers her mouth with her hand, holding in the sob that I know is fighting to get out.
“STAND UP NOW! You dance, or you leave this room and don’t return. Your decision.”
“I can’t dance.” She stands up, her head lowered in defeat.
“You can’t be a ballerina anymore. You can’t push your body to dance professionally, but you can still dance, you can still feel the music, and let it flow through you.”
“I don’t think I can do it.”
“I’m telling you that you can. You need this. Let go. Take all of your hurt, pain, anger, and frustration, and let it out. Let the music in, and dance through the rage you’re feeling. If you keep it inside, it will destroy you. You need to find yourself again.”
I watch the tears as they fall silently down her cheeks, and my heart aches for her, but I need to push; she needs to do this.
“Dance or leave. What’s it going to be?”
“I… I…”
She steps into me, punching me in the chest, slapping me, her breathing labored as she struggles to come to terms with what I’m asking of her. I just stand and take it, knowing that this is going to push her to face her feelings.
I put the song back to the beginning and turn up the volume until it consumes all of the air in the room; vibrating through our bodies; there is no escape.
“Feel, Nyx. Anything. Let yourself feel it.”
She pushes me away and walks to the center of the room, dropping her head back, staring up at the ceiling.
I can see the moment that it happens.
The moment that she lets it take over. Her entire demeanor changes; it’s thrilling and chilling to watch. The transformation is unmistakable.
She begins to run her hands over her skin, her body starting to move. Her long black hair swaying as the music takes over. I can see the anger emanating from every pore. Her movements are sharp, filled with frustration; her hands fisting in her hair as she thrashes her head in time with the beat.
Her feet start to move, gliding around the room with practiced elegance, and a freedom I have never seen from her. This isn’t just ballet, this is a hybrid form of dance. The emotion that she expresses is so raw and real and awe-inspiring. I stand frozen to the spot, transfixed by the beauty before me, around me.
I can see that she is no longer aware of her surroundings, she’s completely gone, lost to the rhythm, lost in the dance. It is unlike anything I’ve ever seen her do. She is so aggressive, pouring everything she has into this one song, this one dance.
It’s amazing.
She’s stunning.
I am in awe of her strength, her talent, her beauty, and her ability to speak to me through every move of her body.
She covers every inch of the floor, her legs carrying her to another plane.
She is fucking transcendent. She is my Nyx.
I can see the woman that I fell in love with. My Vittoria. She’s right there, she’s come back to me, and I have never wanted her more than I do in this moment.
When the song ends, she drops to the floor, breathing hard, her body glistening with a sheen of sweat.
I immediately go to her, unable to contain the desire coiling inside of me, coursing through my veins. I want her. I need her, and I can’t wait any longer.
I lower my body down on top of hers, pulling her up by the back of her neck, our lips and tongues colliding in a frenzied fuck. I’m starved for the taste of her, and my hunger can’t be sated. I can’t get enough. She bites down hard on my bottom lip; a sharp pain and the familiar metallic taste of blood on my tongue. I take it and continue to give her everything I have, taking what I need in return.
She starts clawing at my back, pulling my T-shirt up and over my head, breaking our kiss just long enough to get it off and out of the way. I unclasp her bra and rip it off her, exposing her perfect breasts, and tight budded nipples. I take one and then the other into my mouth. Nibbling, sucking, and flicking each one in turn, cupping the other with my hand. She feels so fucking amazing, and she tastes even better.
I kiss my way down her body, savoring every inch, every freckle, every line and curve. I want to take i
t slow, but I need her so badly, I can’t hold back. I grasp the sides of her panties and rip; tearing them from her body. I bury my face in her pussy, licking and sucking her with a fierce intensity. Rough and hard, but with all the tenderness I can give. She’s dripping with desire, and I lap up every last drop. It doesn’t take her long to crash over the edge into a screaming orgasm, thrusting her hips, forcing me to take more of her. My name on her lips as she loses herself to the myriad of sensations, is so fucking sexy. My dick is straining against the denim of my jeans, making it almost painful, but I need to hear her come, over and over again, until her body is limp and sated.
I flip her onto her front, lifting her ass in the air, forcing her to spread her legs wide for me. I continue to lick and suck, pulling her tight against my face as I kneel behind her, thrusting my fingers inside of her, delighting in the moans of pleasure she can’t contain. I’m harder than steel, and her final cries of ecstasy are my undoing.
I stand, gently pulling her up with me.
“Take off my pants.” She rips open the button-fly of my jeans, tugging the waistband down, together with my boxers, licking her lips, her eyes focused on my erection. “Do you want it? Tell me how badly you want to feel me inside you.”
Her eyes lift to meet mine as she speaks. “It’s a physical ache. I miss how you feel as you thrust every… hard… inch…” Her hand travels up my thigh and fists around the base of my cock. “I miss the feeling of your warm come spilling inside of me.” She kneels before me, and I feel like I’m about to shoot my load at the sight of her, naked, willing, and sexy as hell. “I miss the taste of you on my tongue.” She darts it out and licks a drop of pre-come from the head, before taking me fully into her mouth - warm and wet surrounding me. It’s fucking amazing.
