by Jp Barnaby
I liked that one. Ethan Bryant. It didn’t sound like I took it off of a street sign. It sounded normal.
The dorms weren’t accepting students until Monday, so I checked into a hotel near campus. I called our lawyer and let him know what I had decided. He said he already had a flight booked and would be there that afternoon. I was surprised, but as he said, it needed to be done and the change filed with the school before anyone even heard the name Hughes. If anyone was able to connect Hughes with Bryant, the change would be in vain. Even though he argued about it, I picked him up from the airport, and we made our way first to the courthouse and then to the college. He had insisted on helping me with the school administration, which turned out to be a very good thing. They didn’t think it was appropriate for a teenage boy to change his name without his parents. The woman obviously didn’t recognize the name Hughes. Finally we were ushered in to speak to the Dean of Students where the attorney explained the situation to the dean while I stood staring blankly out of the window.
In the end, the dean was sympathetic to my plight and erased all mention of Ethan Hughes in their computer system, replacing it with Ethan Bryant. I don’t think it even occurred to him that the change wouldn’t be effective for at least a week when I had to go before the judge. Locking my application securely in his office, he also switched my roommate because they would have seen my name before it was changed. Doing everything he could to hide my identity gave me the impression that for whatever reason, he understood my need for normalcy.
When the first semester started, I was thrilled that I seemed to fade into the background. I kept my head down in class, I sat alone on an open bench outside at lunch, and I even managed to get a roommate who kept to himself. For the first few months, everything was fine. But then I started to notice groups of people hanging around together, couples holding hands while walking across campus. I was surrounded by people, but I felt so isolated. I didn’t engage anyone because I figured I didn’t have anything to offer. Why would they want to hang out with a guy who was just an empty shell? Instead, I threw myself into my classes and I excelled.
It wasn’t until my third year that things started to change for me. One of my new suitemates, Gary, was outgoing and charismatic. Surrounded by an air of confidence, he made friends easily, especially female friends. Although he never brought them back to the suite, he talked about them so frequently that I thought maybe he was overstating things until he offered to hook me up with one of his friends. At twenty-one, I felt like the only virgin on campus. Both of my suitemates had thought it was a joke when it came up, until I blushed and assured them that it wasn’t. Gary set me up with Jennifer because he said she was a “sure thing.” I was pretty sure that meant sex.
Gary arranged to stay with a frat buddy that night “just in case,” and left a box of condoms by my bed, while my other suitemate looked on in mild concern. While I was mortified, I decided that I would at least try. I mean, it was just sex – everyone did it. Well, normal people did it. I couldn’t really put myself in the ‘everyone’ group. Jennifer turned out to be a nice girl and I was able to talk to her at least on a superficial level. I had no real social skills, but she seemed to talk enough for the both of us. After a simple dinner, we came back to my room. We sat down on the bed, looking awkwardly at each other, and that’s when I started to panic. She took my hand and told me that she understood I was frightened and that was normal. When she leaned forward to kiss me, I just closed my eyes and froze.
Her lips were warm and kissing her was very nice. She smelled like apples, not like the stale beer I was used to, her body was soft instead of wiry, and she was yielding and compliant instead of insistent. Undressing in front of me, I marveled at each new discovery as she unveiled them to me. Guiding my hands, she taught me what to do. Then she undressed me, and the realization of what I was about to do hit me so hard it took my breath away. This would mark the end of his power over me.
She pushed me back onto the bed, and slid the condom down over my burgeoning erection. It seemed that she was ready, and I guessed I was ready too. I wondered if intimacy would come later, because it just felt perfunctory. She straddled my hips and placed my hands to her breast, moaning as she sank down onto me, I was inside of a woman for the very first time. When she began to move, it felt good, though some of the feeling was obstructed by the condom. I looked up and saw that her eyes were closed, and I rubbed her breasts like she had showed me. “Yeah, just like that… you feel so good…” I stilled. He had used those exact words with me. My erection waned, and I put my hands over my face, trying to calm my frantically beating heart.
“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” she told me quietly, “It happens.” She had no idea that I wasn’t just having normal erectile issues, it was something else entirely. “Let’s try it this way.” She climbed off me and lay down on the bed, pulling me on top of her. I didn’t know that I wanted to keep going, but I felt like a freak telling her that I wanted to stop. Instead, I got on top and let her guide my partial erection into her again. This position made me feel more powerful, more in control, and I liked that feeling. I kissed her, just to keep her from talking again and ruining it. As I moved my hips, I felt myself getting harder. Soon I was back to a full erection, and she was moaning into my mouth. She whimpered and that sound unlocked something inside of me.
I took her hands and pinned her wrists above her head, driving down hard into her. Arching her back, she pressed her breasts up into me. She was the one that was helpless now, jerking her hips up to meet mine as I drove relentlessly, mercilessly, into her. Grunting in time with my thrusts as I continued to pin her to the bed, she thrashed, and rocked, but I held her firm. Finally, her body tightened around me. At first, I wasn’t sure what was happening, but then she made sounds like those girls in the movies and I knew. She continued to writhe beneath me, but couldn’t break my hold, turning me on even more. My grip on her wrists tightened and I fucked her as hard as I could, not bothered by the animalistic sounds I was making as I desperately sought…what? An orgasm? Redemption? Some sense of normalcy? I climaxed with something akin to roar, it was a sound born of triumph as I emptied into the condom.
It was only then that I realized what I had done. Her eyes were wide when I looked down into them, and as I let go of her wrists, I saw deep red marks that would surely bruise. Even as she assured me that she was all right, she dressed quickly and left all the same. I was sickened with myself, horrified at my abuse of her. She was only trying to help me. I knew then that I would never have a normal relationship with a woman.
He had ruined me.
Gary was not happy with me after that night with her, so I had taken to spending my free time on the roof of our dorm. I spent hours just looking over at the fifteen-story drop, trying to will myself onto the ledge.
Then, with one essay, my life changed.
My psych professor had asked me to stay after class one afternoon. I was anxious to get back to the roof. I thought maybe today would be the day. The feeling was particularly strong after writing that fucking essay on trauma. We were supposed to interview someone in our life that was coping with trauma. Well, since I didn’t have anyone in my life, and I was a walking poster child for trauma, I wrote the paper, changing some key details, about myself. Suddenly, he was calling me in to talk about it, I was sure I was going to fail, and that would just kill my grade point average for medical school. So, I agreed to stay and talk to him.
“Ethan, I wanted to talk to you about your interview subject,” he said gently, sitting in a chair in front of my desk. I nodded. He sighed, “How did you choose the name Bryant?”
I gaped at him. Not sure how he knew, I figured there was no point in lying to him. “A street sign I saw as I came into town,” I answered, looking at the floor. He laughed, and said something about his family’s love of affectation.
“I’m not going to tell anyone, Ethan. I think I may be able to help you.”
I looked up, almost rollin
g my eyes. “No one can help me. Shrinks, therapy, pills – they’ve tried. I am beyond the reach of help.”
“No, Ethan. I was talking about something a little less… conventional,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. I was intrigued in spite of myself.
“But, Professor Bryant – I don’t think I can be helped. I’m so damaged.” I said, with a small bubble of hope starting to grow in my chest.
“Ethan – call me Stephen.”
Journal Entry – Coping Mechanism
Over the next few weeks, Professor Bryant, or Stephen as I called him, explained to me about the Dom/sub community that he was a part of. When I told him about Jennifer, he explained that my reaction during my first time was normal given my trauma, and that he thought maybe a different type of coping mechanism was needed because of the extreme nature of my abuse. We talked about hard and soft lists and about different options that I had for starting in the community. He thought that pairing me with a female Domme would be better given my history, and we added men to my hard limits list. For some reason, he felt that may not always be the case, even though I assured him it wouldn’t change.
I wondered why, given my obvious need for control, he didn’t think it was better to start me off as a Dom. It seemed like a better fit for me, with what we had talked about. I didn’t know if I could… perform as a submissive. I was trying to gain control, not submit it. He explained that in a relationship like that, a submissive had all of the control. He felt that was the best place for me to start, that maybe I shouldn’t have responsibility over someone else for a while; it would help me learn to trust.
One night after Gary had gone out my other suitemate approached me and told me he’d noticed I’ve been spending a lot of time with Stephen. I nodded, wondering what he could possibly know because I knew Stephen would never divulge the content of our conversations; he was like my therapist now—one of the only therapists I had ever known that was truly trying to help me. My roommate said that he also knew Stephen, and that the professor had asked him to talk to me about being a submissive. I was astonished. Ryan was shy and unassuming; he spoke softly, but with purpose. He told me about his Mistress, and about some of the things they did. Mostly, he talked about how it made him feel. He was so in touch with himself, so confident in his emotions. I wanted that… so badly.
When Stephen told me a few days later that he had secured me a place with a local Domme, I was nervous, but excited. When he told me that she was also Ryan’s Domme, I felt… comforted. I would not be alone; I would have someone to talk to about my experiences. For the first time in my life, I started to see daylight at the end of the tunnel.
My first meeting with Nicole was certainly not what I had expected it to be. We met at a quiet and comfortable coffee shop outside of the normal student hang-outs where she could ask questions and get to know me, and that’s exactly what she wanted to do, get to know me. She said that different aspects of my personality would lend themselves to various things that we would do together. Even though she was open, and very nice, I felt awkward with her, like a gangly teenage boy next to the prom queen. She had experience, stature in this lifestyle and I did not. After a while, she seemed to get the information that she needed and I was finally going to get started, to see if this was the one thing that could help me, as Stephen believed that it could.
It took weeks of careful and patient sessions before she was able to penetrate me without causing me to burst into tears. All I could see and feel during those initial sessions was him, his presence lingered, haunting me – never allowing me peace. I knew she had no idea what I had been through, but Stephen had told her to be gentle with me. During these times, she would stroke my hair and tell me that I was safe. She taught me to please her orally, which initially I didn’t think I would want to do, but once I saw how I could please her no matter what position I was bound in, and even without the use of my hands, it became one of my favorite session moments with her. Within the first two weeks, I was devoted to her. I think it was because of the way she made me feel when she disciplined me; it was one area where she didn’t need to be gentle. I welcomed the pain, I longed for it. When she paddled me, and eventually whipped or caned me, I could detach myself from my past and focus solely on it.
In my willing submission to another, I found my escape. I found my purpose.
“Ethan?” Jayden asked as he knocked on the wood surround. My door was open, but not wanting to startle me, he always knocked before he entered. I marked my page and looked up. “How are you?” I liked thinking back to those first few sessions with Nicole, she had been so patient with me, and giving up that control was just what I had needed. Jayden came into the room and knelt in front of my chair. “Lexi and Connor are out for the day, I thought maybe it would be a good time for us to do a session.” He positioned himself between my legs, and pressed his lips to my ear, “Please, Master Ethan.” When he kissed my neck gently, I closed my eyes, nodding. Pulling away slowly, he started to rise, but I stopped him.
“Jayden, I was wondering… I thought maybe…” I stammered, feeling like an idiot. It shouldn’t be this hard. He put his hand on the side of my face.
“What is it, Ethan?” he asked, with genuine concern.
“I thought maybe it would help if I took a submissive role. I think maybe it would be best if you were in control.” He put his other hand on my face and brought my lips to his.
“I would be honored,” he said simply before his lips met mine. Then he stood up, still holding one of my hands. “I will get things set up, just come in when you’re ready.” I nodded and he left the room. Walking over to the bed, I took off my clothes so that I could put myself in someone else’s hands for the first time in nearly five years.
After walking naked into their playroom, I took my place on the mat in the center of the room where I had last heard Connor. I knelt in subservience to Jayden with my fingers laced behind my neck, and my eyes on the floor, waiting. I felt him come up behind me, and then his lips were at my ear. “You’re already hard for me. That’s very good.” I felt an involuntary shiver course through me at the sound of his voice. My nipples hardened, and that sensation shot right down my chest and into my stomach.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, my voice breathless and excited.
“I don’t like that,” he mused, walking around to stand in front of me. What didn’t he like? I hadn’t done anything wrong. “I don’t like ‘Sir’. I think you can earn the right to call me ‘Master’. What do you think?” he suggested. Grasping my hair, he tilted my face up until I was looking at him.
“Yes, Sir,” I repeated.
“Good boy,” he said, releasing my hair. “You can start by removing my clothes.” I released my hands from the back of my neck and stood up. With trembling fingers, I began to unbutton his shirt, kissing the exposed skin reverently with each open button. As my lips ghosted over the sculpted planes of his stomach, I felt his intake of breath. When all of the buttons were undone, I slid the shirt off of his shoulders, and let my fingers trace the lines down his muscled arms as I went to my knees before him. I felt his fingers in my hair and heard his soft moan as I kissed his stomach with tender open-mouthed kisses. With my hands on his sides, I pulled him closer to me as my lips covered his navel. Reaching down, I unbuttoned his jeans, and his fingers tightened in my hair as I pulled his pants down over his hips. My lips were on his thighs as I pushed his jeans to the floor, allowing him to step out of them. As I pressed my lips to his straining erection through his briefs, his hands went to my shoulders, gripping tightly as I licked the head through the material. My fingers caressed the backs of his legs while I reached up for the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down, I watched his cock spring from its confinement as I relieved him of the garment.
Shocked at the driving need I felt to take him into my mouth, I licked my lips. He pulled back, as if he were tempted by the same thought I was, and ordered me to follow him. After I stood, he put his hands on
my naked hips and turned me so that I was facing his bondage chair, the same type of chair that I had in my own playroom.
“Bend over the seat and put your hands on the back of the chair,” he murmured in my ear. I reached out and grasped the back of the chair. Taking two lengths of rope he tied my wrists into position, leaving my legs unbound, but kicked my feet apart with his own. I knew he wouldn’t whip me, not yet, as my skin was still much too sensitive for that. Idly I wondered what he had in mind. Then I felt his lips touch the back of my neck. I shivered, and they moved slowly across my shoulders, grazing my skin very lightly as he moved from side to side across my back, moving lower with each pass. Finally dawning on me that he was kissing the marks on my back, my heart swelled. But as he moved lower, over my buttocks, a new feeling rose in me, and I gripped the wooden chair under my hands as his lips trailed down the backs of my thighs. When he started to come back up, and his lips pressed hard between my legs, I cried out. His forehead pressed against my buttocks and he licked and kissed my balls from behind, my cock aching as he sucked them lightly. It had been so long, I knew I’d never last. I wanted him too fucking badly.
“Please, Sir. Please… Please…” I babbled incoherently, bending my knees to spread my legs wider apart, grinding myself against his face. Then he pulled away and stood, pressing his lips to my ear.
“What is it that you want?” he asked, his voice shooting a current straight through to my cock as he continued to stroke between my legs with his hand.
“Please, fuck me… please… I want to come for you…” I added the ‘Sir’ as an afterthought; any kind of ‘if it pleases you’ was just beyond me at this point. I watched him pick up a bottle of lube from a nearby shelf and then he nudged me slightly to the side. Ducking below my bound arms, he sat in the chair and opened the bottle, he poured a small amount on the tip of his cock, and began to stroke himself. I couldn’t stop my hips from moving in time with his hand.
