The Darker Side of Love (A Dark Erotica Boxed Set)

by Tara Crescent

  As he listened to Paul, Ben had openly studied Miggie as she’d sat on the couch. While she was far from conservative, never in his wildest dreams would he have believed that someone as intelligent, composed, and accomplished would allow herself to be gang banged by a bunch of guys. As he’d watched her, she’d begun to look increasingly anxious, biting her lower lip. Ben imagined biting it harder.

  Paul had gone on to say that he was in charge of Miggie’s safety, both in the immediate and long term. If she said or signaled her safeword, all action stopped. If Paul felt any of the guys were getting out of hand, they stopped. Condoms were mandatory for any pussy or ass fucking.

  He’d asked Ben if he’d taken any drugs that night, and how many beers he’d had. Satisfied that Ben didn’t do drugs and was only on his second beer, he’d gone on to say that if he were to come home with them, all drinking would stop then and there.

  Lastly, he’d added that all the guys would have to provide their full names, numbers, and license information. This was for Miggie’s long-term security. If any of the guys contacted or harassed her, ever, they’d be in for a world of shit. Ben understood the precautions, oddly never doubting that his information would be misused. It was clear this was something Miggie and Paul had done before.

  Even though a part of him didn’t quite believe he’d even be allowed to get close to her, he had no doubt something was going down, and in the least he might get to watch some action. Ben had been more turned on than he’d ever been in his life, and just the thought of seeing Miggie naked was enough for him.

  Paul had asked him if he was in, and Ben nodded yes, he was in. He got Paul’s address, then rejoined his friends who didn’t appear to even notice that he’d been gone. Ben had watched in both disbelief and increasing excitement as Paul spoke with a few other guys. As Paul and Miggie got up to leave, she’d given Ben one last fleeting look, and he could have sworn the gold specks in her eyes were sparkling.

  Making excuses to his friends, Ben had shrugged at their teases for heading back to the dorms so early, then took off on his bicycle for Paul’s apartment. With each mile, Ben replayed her painful gasp over and over again - his determination had grown slowly but surely. He’d wanted more than her gasps. He’d wanted to make her scream.

  Chapter Three

  The ring of his cellphone broke Ben out of the spell his memories were weaving. Thirteen years later, his heart was beating with the same anticipation he’d felt as he locked up his bike outside Paul’s garden apartment.

  He looked down at the screen. Sarah.

  Answering the phone, he asked, “Hello, sweetheart. How’d the meeting go?”

  Never one to complain or dwell, Ben knew that Sarah would downplay the last minute dinner meeting that had been thrown on her lap by her boss. Her marketing company was wooing another fledgling startup, and Sarah had been called in after another colleague had almost blown it. She was a ringer for them - attractive but not intimidating, confident but humble. These were the same characteristics that had attracted Ben to her when they’d met on FetLife. They were both athletic, enjoyed skiing, hiking, and camping, and came into the relationship after failed marriages. While their desires in the bedroom didn’t quite match up, they’d found a middle ground that had satisfied them both for the last two years.

  “It was fine… no problem. They’re signing on tomorrow.” She paused before adding, “I’m only sorry it broke our date. I’ve been turned on since that damn email you sent this morning, and now I won’t see you for two more nights!”

  Ben smiled, remembering the video he’d sent her that morning of the older, British Dom from her favorite kink website suspending a woman in intricate knots of rope, then deep throating her over and over again. He never would ask her to deny herself, but unless given express orders to play with her toys, Sarah reserved her orgasms for him.

  “Poor girl. Should I order you to grab your bag of toys?”

  He heard her sigh briefly. Clearly it had been the wrong question.

  “Sweetie”, she said softly, “if I tell you to order me - it’s not much of an order, is it?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  She brightened up quickly, assuring Ben she’d be better not getting off until she saw him again anyway - that way she could harness the energy for work.

  When they had met, Sarah had been looking for a dominant man for both in and out of the bedroom. She’d explained that during the course of her marriage to her high school sweetheart, she’d accepted her submissive nature, but her husband, the ‘feminist’ could not. Sarah knew she was a walking cliché - the professional woman with a team working under her, yet desiring a man to take control. She didn’t care, though, and found pleasure in giving of herself one-hundred percent to a man. While pain was not something she desired, she accepted it eagerly if it was what her dominant wanted of her. She knew from the start that Ben was not looking to be a master, or a lifestyle Dom, but he did enjoy taking charge in the bedroom. To make her happy, though, he began to take charge in her day to day life too. If he could do that for her, then she could take a little pain for him - although sometimes it was more than ‘a little’.

  During his final year at college, and the summer before medical school, Ben found a few women to date, frequently older than him, who were self-proclaimed masochists. He learned along the way to differentiate between the women who responded positively to pain from the women who were punishing themselves or were self-destructive. He had no desire to support or benefit from anyone’s mental instability.

  Then he’d met Michelle.

  He’d spotted her their first day of medical school in Portland and the chemistry had been intense. Despite her vanilla preferences, sex with her was passionate, loving, and fun. Naively he’d decided that he could shelve his kinks, maybe indulge in a little porn once in a while, and all would work out. They had married during their third year, suffered through internships in different states, then were back in together in Portland, if not at the same hospital, for their residencies.

  On the outside, Ben and Michelle had been the perfect couple, but in truth, both grew bored and resentful over time. Medical school had been its own insular subculture, but upon entering the real world, the two realized they had little in common. They separated five years and two months into their marriage as friends, and two weeks later Ben set up his FetLife account.

  Fearful he’d be discovered by colleagues, or even worse, patients, Ben would travel for his hookups to Washington State, Southern Oregon, or even once to Idaho. He found a world of women out there that he could consensually abuse in the most erotic ways, and oh how he loved to torture them. He became skilled at using canes, wax, clothes pegs, and his hands. It wasn’t unusual for him to stop at the store for some ginger or Vicks before heading to a hotel or the woman’s home depending on their comfort level.

  In those first years, Ben rediscovered his passion for making women cry out in pain. He loved to mark their beautiful bodies, and to Ben they were all beautiful, then coddle them with aftercare. Throughout his adventures though, he kept himself in check, as if he knew that just beyond his conscious thought, other desires lurked - simmering patiently.

  Eventually he tired of the travel, and began to date in town. He edited his profile, softening it just enough so that if he did cross paths with someone he knew, it would appear he only had some light kinks. He met Sarah, made some compromises, and fell into an amicable relationship that satisfied most of their mutual passions. He knew it was unreasonable to expect all of his darker fetishes to be met, and was thankful to find a woman like Sarah who he could talk to about mind-numbing philosophical quandaries, binge watch cable television until four in the morning, or tie in his doorway and flog until she was a bright cherry red from her shoulders to her calves.

  She was an amazing cook, shared his passion for the outdoors, was incredibly laid back, and they argued rarely, if at all.

  So why the hell haven’t you asked her to move in wi
th you?

  This was the question that had plagued him for the past few months.

  After making plans to see each other in two days, Ben told Sarah that he planned to send new videos for her to watch each morning before work, playing with her clit as she did so. In the evenings she was to insert her butt plug from the time she walked into the door, until just before bed. Although orgasm denial wasn’t his thing, torture was. If she chose to deny herself, far be it from him to make it easy on her.

  Once off the phone, Ben filled his tumbler one last time, before moving it to the far edge of his side table. While tomorrow wasn’t a surgery day, he still had to go in.

  Resting his head on the back of the couch, he closed his eyes and once again allowed his memories to crash forward unbridled.

  Miggie.

  As Ben locked up his bike outside Paul’s apartment, he saw the tall blonde guy park his car about a half block down. For some reason, he waited for him to approach before walking up to the door. The apartment complex had only two levels, with Paul’s on the second one. The two walked in silence together up the concrete stairs that led to unit number 214. They stood there outside the door, without knocking.

  The other guy, almost at eye level with Ben, spoke up.

  “Hey. I’m, um… Cliff.”

  Ben nodded once, and simply replied, “Benji.”

  Under the circumstances, he didn’t have anything else to say.

  Cliff knocked on the door quietly, and both guys jumped a little when the door was answered almost immediately. Ben realized he never really believed it would open, let alone that Paul would be welcoming them in. There was another guy there from the party, with black, spiky hair, tight black jeans and a red flannel with ripped sleeves. He introduced himself with a thick British accent, as Martin.

  He’d gone on to add, “Don’t worry, mates, it’s all good. Been here - done that once before with these guys. Fuckin’ fun as hell. Just don’t cross Paul and you guys’ll be cool.”

  Don’t cross Paul. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  Just as Ben was digesting that little nugget, Miggie approached the three of them. Paul was across the room, pulling some things out of a closet.

  “Hey guys, um… Thanks for coming over. Kitchen’s over there if you need some water…. I think he may have some orange soda too.”

  Ben was momentarily confused. Was he invited to fuck her, or what?

  She continued, looking directly at Ben.

  “I’m going to go get cleaned up, and will, uh… be out in a few minutes.”

  Ben became concerned. Was she nervous? Did she want them there? He considered leaving as anxiety crept in. He watched as Miggie crossed the room to Paul, who stopped what he was doing, pushed her against the wall, and kissed her passionately. They broke apart - as she turned for the bathroom he slapped her ass hard, calling out loud enough for the other guys to hear, “make that ass squeaky clean for us, babe.”

  Ben knew he would stay.

  He looked around the apartment. It was a sizable area, but there were no divisions between the rooms. At the far end, a Japanese screen blocked off what he assumed was the bed, and there were two doors, presumably a closet and bathroom. Along another wall was a drafting table littered with sketches. It shared a corner with a large wood desk that came out from the wall in a way that one could move from one to the other by just turning their chair.

  An old, worn-out couch and armchair were near the center of the room, both facing a small television sitting on a side table. Closer to the front door where they stood, was a square kitchen table with four mismatched chairs. The ‘kitchen’ was along one wall, comprising of a small refrigerator and stove.

  The walls were covered in murals, many of which looked like retro tattoos. Posters advertising old concerts and motorcycles decorated areas that hadn’t been painted.

  Across the room, Paul knelt down over a CD player, and suddenly the Chili’s ‘Blood Sugar Sex Magik’ filled the air. Walking back towards the rest of them, his arms were loaded with what appeared to be random items - until he got closer.

  Soft thick cords of rope were wound over his shoulder. He dumped the contents of his arms onto the small kitchen table - two leather belts, a well-polished wood plank, a riding crop. Paul went into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a wooden spoon, then from another drawer he grabbed a bag and tossed it too onto the table - a few wooden clothes pegs spilled out.

  Ben stared at the growing collection and felt something shift inside of himself. Electric sparks seemed to ignite from deep within as adrenaline began to surge - his senses became more acute. Despite the deafening music, he could hear her humming in the bathroom. His mind processed each and every item, discerning how much pain it might cause, what kind of mark it might leave on her skin.

  Paul handed him and Cliff lighters, instructing them to light every candle they could find. Ben hadn’t noticed candles when he’d arrived, but when he looked around again, they were everywhere. They were many and varied - thin tapers and thick pillars in every imaginable color. When they finished, the overhead fixture was turned out and the room was illuminated in flickering light. Visibility was still good, but the effect was both intimate and erotic. Shadows played against the walls, causing the murals to move and shift around them, as if alive themselves.

  Ben stiffened as Paul approached Cliff and himself, unbuttoning his flannel as he did. He noticed Martin in the background, doing the same.

  “Okay guys,” Paul started, “you two seem cool, but I can’t stress enough - if Miggie uses her safeword, ‘redrock’, or clearly shakes her head three times, all action stops. If I don’t like what you’re doing, it stops. Otherwise friends,” he smiles, “use her however you want. Fuck her ass, fuck her cunt… fuck her mouth. Condoms for cunt and ass. Whip her, slap her, clamp her… she’s going to love it. Call her names - she loves that too.”

  Cliff’s whisper bordered on a growl.

  “Holy fuck… I can’t believe this girl.”

  Martin, now with his shirt off and top button of his black jeans undone, added, “believe it, mate - she’s gonna’ come like a banshee - you just wait.”

  In that moment, the bathroom door opened and Miggie walked out. All four men watched her in silence. She wore a simple black slip with just a hint of lace along the borders. It was short - very short - just barely covering her pussy in the front. From behind one could see the soft, sweet spot where her rounded ass met the top her of long, firm thighs. She’d pulled her hair back into a short ponytail, although her bangs and shorter hair framed her face alluringly. She never wore much anyway, but her face was devoid of makeup. To Ben, she was the most beautiful and erotic creature he’d ever seen.

  Paul wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and asked once again if this was what she wanted. She affirmed that it was. The air between Miggie and Paul suddenly crackled as Paul’s smile disappeared and his eyes hardened.

  “Well then, my little cunt, you are fucking in for it tonight.”

  Paul grabbed her ponytail, yanking it up and back until Miggie’s eyes were forced wide open and she was up on tiptoes. Simultaneously holding her up and dragging her backwards, Paul pulled her towards the kitchen table.

  Ben’s cock went hard until it was straining against his jeans. Unconsciously he reached down and grasped himself through the coarse material - his heart beat wildly in his chest.

  “You needy little fuckpig… Are you gonna’ be a pain whore for us tonight? I think you will….”

  As they reached the table, Paul released his hold of her hair, and with the same hand gently cupped her cheek.

  “You think I didn’t notice you making eyes with Benji all night? Were you imagining his cock shoved down your slut-throat - or maybe you’d like to stick your tongue up his ass?”

  Benji’s cock pulsed as that imagery played through his mind.

  Paul leaned forward, and the two kissed slowly, their tongues caressing the other’s in a well-practiced dance,
until he pulled back and gave her cheek a rough slap.

  Abruptly, he flipped Miggie over so that she landed on the table with a thud, letting out a surprised cry as her chest and arms smacked the wood hard. Using his feet, still clad in motorcycle boots, Paul kicked her legs apart as far as they would go while still allowing her heels to stay on the floor. Her head lay to one side - her cheek resting on the cool wood. The bag of clothes pegs lay just in front of her eyes - her arms and hands outstretched above her, palms down on the table. Using one hand to push her neck into the wood surface, Paul’s other hand pulled her ponytail back until she was grimacing. Pain lit up her eyes.

  “Check her Martin.”

  Martin reached his hand between her obscenely stretched limbs, plunging two fingers deep inside her folds. As he fucked them in and out, all four men groaned at the erotic sounds.

  “Wet as a fucking bitch in heat.”

  “Spare us the clichés, dude. Give that needy cunt a few slaps.”

  Martin’s hand pulled back, and in quick succession he gave her three wet, hard spanks directly on her exposed pussy lips. Miggie shrieked, her knees buckling.

  Paul barked out, “Stay on your fucking feet and don’t even think of closing those legs, slut.”

  “Ahhhh, fuck!” Cliff yelled out before he tore open his shorts, dropped them to his hips, and began stroking his cock roughly. Clearly he was already beyond turned-on and ready to shoot.

  Paul smirked. “Looks like you’re about to get your first cum-bath pig. Open wide…”

  Her cheek still against the table, Paul gave her ponytail another hard yank until it her neck was bent painfully back, causing her jaw to drop open. Cliff approached the side of the table, his hand a blur as he jerked the full length, crown to base at a furious speed.

  “Aaauuugghh,” he gasped out as white thick ropes of cum shot from his cock onto her arm and the bag of pegs, then over her cheek, eyes, hair, and into her mouth. One glistening blob landed just in front of her lips, and she strained her tongue forward to lick it from the table. Cliff stumbled backwards, until he found the couch and sat panting.