Then he’d shown up at the party, the one just before graduation. Everyone was getting pretty wild, and Margaret remembered being amused by their lame antics as she waited for her boyfriend to arrive. Girls were flashing their tits and making out with each other, guys were egging them on and trying to hide their hard-ons, while she just sat there bored as hell. A few guys offered her drinks, but Margaret had raised her full beer at them, sending them off with just a stare. The only thing remotely interesting to her was spying on Benji.
She’d watched on as he hung out with his friends, either unaware or unimpressed by the half-naked girls around him. More than one girl had approached him, attempting to flirt, before eventually walking off bored by whatever he and his friends were talking about.
Finally, Paul arrived.
He didn’t go to University of Maryland with them. Already in his mid-twenties, and an accomplished tattoo artist, Margaret had met him at a bar at the start of senior year - which turned into a highly educational year for her, thanks to him.
With his dark hair, lean body, and tattooed sleeves, it was lust at first sight. He’d awoken passions in her that no one had yet to before, encouraged her to explore her own, and kept her safe when those passions had run towards the extreme. The two had fun together, but she’d held no illusions that he was “the one”. Already having been accepted to medical school in New York, Margaret planned to high-tail it up there as soon as she’d graduated.
Thinking back to that night, Margaret remembered Paul sitting down, capturing her mouth quickly and roughly, his tongue penetrating her lips without mercy. She’d loved his greetings - he devoured her. Despite the crowd, his hand had moved firmly up her thigh, under her skirt, then pinched the inner soft skin just below her panty line. She’d cried out, her eyes bursting open and locking onto Benji’s.
Unable to look away, she’d held his gaze, even as Paul took hold of her hair, angling her head to the side so he could suck and bite at her neck. To her disappointment, it was Benji who had broken the spell, but not before he’d given her an odd smile. It had sent a chill through her, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.
Once he’d pulled away, leaving her lips red and swollen, Paul started setting up the night - making plans for the “after-party”. He’d noticed the way her eyes kept traveling towards Benji, and asked if she wanted him included. Margaret laughed nervously, trying not to show her excitement. They’d yet to approach an acquaintance before, but she’d figured in another week she and Benji would never see each other again. She never thought he’d say yes.
Paul walked over to Benji, pulling him from his friends. As the two spoke in hushed tones, Benji’s eyes had remained on her, his face unreadable. Panic crept into her, and Margaret wasn’t sure anymore whether she wanted him to join them, or whether she wanted to bolt from the house and never look back. She’d watched as Benji nodded, his eyes still fixed on her. It was happening. She’d felt a fire spontaneously burst to light inside of her, its heat snaking through her veins.
After that moment, Margaret remembered feeling like she was floating, watching from another world. She was only half aware as Paul approached the other guys they’d discussed, offering the same invitation. One of the guys they knew, from one of their previous “parties”, the other two were strangers. She heard the tall blonde call out, “fuck yeah,” while the other guy shook his head, gesturing to a girl across the room.
In the end, there would be five of them total — her, and four guys. They’d given the other guys Paul’s address, with instructions to be there in thirty minutes, and that drugs and alcohol were a big ‘no’. Paul and Margaret had left the house together, and just as she’d mounted his motorcycle, he’d turned around, grasping her upper arm in his hand.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?”
She’d nodded in response.
“No. I need to hear you say it.”
Margaret had smiled, then kissed his roughened cheek.
“Yes, Paul. This is what I want.”
He’d flashed her a wicked grin, the one that never failed to make her wet.
“Okay, then. As always, just say your word and it all stops. They all know that.”
Margaret had put on her helmet, indicating her readiness - her skin prickling with excitement. Paul started the bike, and the two had sped off into the darkness.
Chapter Two
That evening, Ben pedaled his bike home from the hospital through rain-soaked streets until his thighs burned and his lungs choked on the cold night air. It would be summer in another two months, but for now he’d have to endure rain that gave so much life to the city. Normally he enjoyed the twenty minute ride, but tonight he just wanted to get through his front door and calm the fuck down. He’d focused during his two remaining surgeries, but the rest of the day had been consumed by memories of Miggie.
Margaret… Her name’s Margaret, old man, and you’re no longer in college together. You’re colleagues in the same hospital so get it the hell together.
Ben hung his bike in the mudroom, before peeling off his dripping wet raingear. Frick and Frack were immediately wrapping their long, furry bodies around his legs, pawing at the puddles of water left on the floor. He’d gotten the brothers as kittens five years ago - after his divorce from Michelle. He’d always thought of himself as a dog person, but between living alone and his unpredictable surgeon hours, these two suited him fine. More than fine, really - he loved the fuzzy guys.
The two cats trailed behind him as he walked into the kitchen, opened a can of their food and split it between them. Normally he’d have gotten the laser pointer out for a while to get them to blow off some energy before dinner, but tonight he had a date with a bottle of whiskey and the couch.
In his living room, Ben walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself two fingers of bourbon and quickly knocked it back. He savored the burn in his throat before pouring another and turning for the leather couch. Two feet away he turned, grabbed the bottle, then continued on.
Once on the worn leather couch, glass in one hand, the other rubbing tension from his brow, Ben finally allowed his thoughts to drift back to college, and to the pivotal night he learned more about himself than years of higher education ever had.
Man, I was a first-class dork back then.
Ben thought back to himself in college: tall, skinny as a rail, and awkward as hell around girls after years of going to an all-boys private school. He’d grown his hair out after a lifetime of keeping it short under his father’s orders, but had no idea how to keep it styled. Until his Junior year, he was the guy who was every girl’s friend, but nobody’s boyfriend.
It was pure luck he wasn’t a virgin, thanks to his neighbor Becca. The two had been summertime fuck-buddies for the past three years. They had little in common, and rarely went out — but more nights than not would end up fucking their brains out.
Everything they’d done together had been pretty standard fare - going down on each other - fucking in every position possible. He’d enjoyed fingering and tonguing her ass, and by the way she responded to it, she’d seemed to also. It all went to hell though, the night he had taken charge. Becca always controlled the action, and he’d gratefully accepted any instruction she gave. That night, though, she’d grabbed some of her dad’s neck ties, hoping to be restrained on the bed. They’d played around a little with bondage in the past, and she’d loved when he’d licked and fucked her while she was spread eagled and helpless.
This time, though, he’d wanted to try something new, something he’d seen online. He had asked her to kneel, then tied her wrists to her ankles. Becca was into it at first, even as he unnecessarily tightened her bindings, causing her back to arch and her small breasts to enticingly lift upwards. He’d watched in fascination as her excitement turned to apprehension, then apprehension turned to fear. His cock had never been so hard.
Without pause, he’d shoved his entire length roughly past her lips, called her a ‘cock hungry slut�
�� and started to fuck her mouth. Becca tried to suck him as best as she could. Whether she was trying to please him or appease him, he couldn’t care less. Watching his cock piston without mercy in and out of her mouth, he’d felt omnipotent, full of rage and lust and a growing need to use her body in the most degrading ways. Images of bruises and tears had flashed through his brain.
Grabbing fistfuls of her hair, his hips continued to buck against her cheeks as his cock pushed relentlessly against her throat. Rivers of drool escaped her lips in thick cords - the sound of gags and chokes filled the air. She’d started to struggle, whipping her body and head back and forth attempting to spit his cock out. Her teeth had begun to bear down on him, and he’d pulled out. Enraged he’d raised his hand, ready to strike — she’d recoiled, screamed out, and fallen to her side.
“Benji, you mother-fucker!! Get me the fuck untied and get the fuck out of here!!”
Ben had stood over her, sweat running down his chest - his breath coming out in ragged gasps. His crimson cock bobbed in front of him, still hard as steel, dripping with her drool, and he’d suddenly felt stricken. What had he done? What kind of monster was he?
Ben remembered dropping to his knees, fumbling with the knots he’d tied. Her struggles had pulled them tight and he’d panicked when he couldn’t get them undone.
His voice’d cracked as he’d whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry Becca,” over and over again. The knots had continued to tighten despite his efforts.
Becca’s words had held barely bridled anger.
“Get the scissors off my desk, Benji. Get these mother-fucking ties off of me.”
He’d scrambled for the desk, grabbed the scissors, and cut the neck ties. Quickly, she’d rid herself of the bindings around her ankles and wrists, rubbing the red and abraded skin. She had then thrown on a large tee-shirt and shuffled to the far wall, encircling her arms around her raised knees.
Ben recalled that the look in her eyes had torn him to pieces. It was a look of broken trust. It was a look of goodbye.
When she’d finally spoke again, her voice had been small — catching with each word.
“Why Benji? Why’d you do that to me?”
“I… I don’t know,” he’d answered. “It felt good.”
“It felt good?”
Her look of hurt had quickly transformed to raw disgust.
“Benji, there may be girls out there that want to be treated like whores and whipping posts, but you need to fucking ask them first. You raped my goddamn mouth, you asshole.”
He’d moved towards her, hurling apologies as he did, but frozen when she’d flinched with his approach.
“Get out. Don’t come back.”
Those were the last words he’d heard from her before grabbing his clothes and bolting out of her bedroom window. They had avoided each other for the rest of the summer, neither returning home for winter break. A few months after that night, he’d written to her at college with one final apology, but never had a reply.
Back at school, Ben vowed to stay away from girls. Of course, as with all things in life, they were suddenly all over him. The more he dodged their advances, the more aggressive they became.
His friends gave him shit for not dating, but the night with Becca still haunted him. Wasn’t he the ‘nice guy’? The one who took girls to movies, only to find out the next day they’d ended their night’s fucking their ex-boyfriends? He wasn’t a rapist. He wasn’t an abuser. That much he knew - but what was he?
Ben began to scour online BDSM sites, focusing on sadism and masochism, but it left him even more confused. The staged spankings and floggings, the clamps and weights, the canes and whips — he’d watch as women submitted and took the pain, but it just wasn’t enough for him. He didn’t want to dominate a woman, that wasn’t it — he’d wanted to hurt one, really hurt her, and it had scared the hell out of him. Fuck, he was pre-med — wasn’t he supposed to be a healer?
He knew he’d never force himself on a woman again, but the direction his fantasies were heading crippled his belief that he’d ever find someone willing to concede to his sadism, let alone get off from it.
In time, Ben had allowed himself to date again. In a moment of clarity, he’d finally understood that he didn’t want to hurt all women, just the ones who wanted it. Whilst he’d sat across from his dates, he’d felt no desire to slap them, or watch their eyes tear as his nails twisted into their nipples, and for this he was relieved. He’d also realized that his desire to hurt was not too far off from his desire to heal. There was power in the yielding of one body to another, whether it be destructive or reparative, and that power stoked deep fires within him.
He’d slept with a few girls and enjoyed the hell out of them even while keeping his sadism in check. Every time he’d made a girl come, he’d privately thanked Becca, as she’d been the one to teach him everything he knew. A few of them he would let himself be playfully rough with - pinching their nipples - slapping their asses as he fucked them from behind. Some girls had liked it, some hadn’t, but he never took it any farther.
Months had gone by, and Ben had shelved his fantasies, figuring he’d never find what he was looking for in college. He had no way of knowing all that would soon change, with an offer that set into motion a night he would never forget.
He almost hadn’t gone to the party, and had all but regretted going once inside. It just wasn’t his scene. Ben enjoyed looking at girls’ tits as much as the next guy, but the girls seemed nervous and attention seeking - anxiety and insecurity mirrored in their eyes. He’d run into a couple of guys from his study group, and joined them as they bitched about their last final. They’d been talking for a few minutes, when a prickle had caressed the back of his neck - someone was watching him.
Slowly he’d looked behind himself, just in time to see Miggie, from his pre-med classes, turn her head away. Had she been looking at him? He’d laughed to himself.
In your dreams.
Miggie had always felt unattainable to him. She wasn’t beautiful, but her features were striking. Her hair was almost a burnt rust color, the style of which changed frequently. One year it was long and straight, parted on the side. The next year it had been short and spiky. The night of the party, it had grown out to just below her shoulders, but she still had her signature spiky bangs. Tall himself, he’d appreciated her height - at least five feet seven inches, maybe more. While not heavy, she was also not wafer thin, which seemed to be the desired state of most of the other girls he knew. And while he’d loved her pale skin, speckled with faint freckles, it was her hazel eyes, with their flecks of gold, that had frequently driven him to distraction.
Beyond her looks, though, she’d had a way of carrying herself that seemed confident and self-possessed beyond her years. He’d known little about her, except that she lived off campus with friends. And while she hadn’t spent much time on campus except for classes, she’d been friendly and personable while there. Clearly one of the best students in pre-med, she was frequently invited to join most of the study groups, only to decline each time.
It had struck Ben as funny that the first party he would ever see her at would also be the last. His friends had noticed her too, and it annoyed him when one of them, Matt, declared he’d be taking her home that night. Laughter ensued moments later when a tall, tattooed guy with a motorcycle helmet had walked in and started making out with her.
His friends quickly lost interest, but Ben had continued to watch on, captivated, as she yielded to the guy. Her eyes had gently closed as the kiss intensified, but watched them clench tight as her bottom lip was pulled by unyielding teeth. He’d watched on as tattoo guy’s hand crept up Miggie’s thigh, pulling it open as it traveled - her skirt lifting to expose naked, pale flesh. Just as he’d caught sight of her black bikini panties, he’d watched as the guy trapped her flesh between thumb and finger, and twisted. She’d gasped - her eyes opening and locking with his.
Instantly the chaotic sights and soun
ds of the party had receded. His heart pounded in his ears as blood had coursed with lightning speed through his veins and down to his cock. It would have been missed by anyone else, but in that brief moment he’d registered not only her pain, but her reaction to that pain. The sound that escaped her beautiful lips had fed something deep inside of him, something he’d buried months ago. He was unable to hold back a smile, because clearly the elusive masochistic girl he’d been dreaming of had been sitting three rows in front of him the whole time.
He’d turned away, breaking the hold she had on him. Not only had his friends been calling his name, but if Ben had looked on any longer he’d have come in his shorts.
A few minutes later, he’d allowed himself to discretely look at them again, but by then they were just talking. Sighing, he’d turned his attention back to his friends, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Twisting around, he was surprised to see tattoo guy standing there.
“Hey. I’m Paul.”
Ben panicked briefly, worried the guy was pissed he’d been watching. Before he could say anything, Paul spoke again.
“Miggie wants to fuck you.”
He’d almost dropped his beer.
“But…, aren’t you…”
Paul smiled, not condescendingly, but as if he’d heard that response before.
“Hear me out - then questions.”
Ben nodded, then listened on as Paul had told him that Miggie was his girlfriend, but that she had some pretty intense sexual needs, and that once in a while they needed a few guys to satisfy them. She’d wanted to be used, fucked, manhandled, and degraded. She got off from pain, shame, and being treated purely as a fucktoy. With each word, Ben’s arousal had grown, his cock aching to escape the confines of his jeans.
The Darker Side of Love (A Dark Erotica Boxed Set) Page 31
