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

by Tara Crescent

  With no close friends in town, she had no one that she could ask to be her ‘safe call’, so to forgo temptation, Margaret avoided FetLife and the other sites she normally trolled to find dates. She researched a few BDSM clubs in the city, then visited them to get a feel for their clientele and general vibe. After a few visits to the one she liked the most, she met a Dom that agreed to play with her there. Dirk was a little younger, married, and not quite physically her type - although that held no bearing as this was not about sex. He had a heavy hand, an impressive arsenal of whips and canes, and incredible stamina.

  They’d had three sessions so far, the first two of which both had treaded lightly as they were still getting to know each other, but the last of which had insanely aroused her. He’d bound her breasts, clamped her nipples and cunt lips, then used a single-tail whip that delivered stinging bites to the back of her thighs, ass and lower back. Dirk had been careful to only leave marks in hidden areas, but she’d been left with some mild pink marks around her wrists from her bindings. Nothing a few bracelets and a long sleeve shirt wouldn’t cover.

  Margaret loathed to go to work dinners, hosted by aggressive drug or surgical equipment reps, but she was expected to attend at least a few every year, and she had chosen this one because it was a restaurant she’d been wanting to check out for a while. She could care less about the new suture material they were promoting, but figured the topic intrigued her enough that she could fake interest for a couple of hours.

  Walking into the restaurant, she looked to see if there was a back room for a large party, or at least a large table. Doctors were sluts for free meals. Her search was interrupted by the maître d’ who directed her to the surprisingly small table of four where she was welcomed by the rep, a pediatric surgeon she’d met once before - and a surprised looking Ben.

  Oh shit.

  The remaining seat at the table shared a corner with his. Margaret steeled herself for a long night. Luckily, the suture rep chimed in quickly.

  “Hi, I’m Marci,” she said with overstated enthusiasm, “Looks like most of your colleagues had to drop out… but won’t this be fun?”

  Margaret inwardly groaned, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Ben sat rigid in his chair, also looking less than pleased with the turn of events for the evening. As it would happen, the other doctor appeared to love the sound of his voice and dominated the conversation throughout dinner. The two of them chimed in when appropriate, but otherwise both ate their meals in silence.

  As their plates were being cleared, Margaret abruptly felt Ben’s hand over her wrist. Startled, she looked to him, only to see him looking down at her wrist. Slowly he pushed the cuff of her sleeve up her arm, exposing her wrist. She’d forgotten to put her bracelets back on after the gym. Panicked, she looked up again, relieved to find the other two at the table engrossed with each other in a less than professional flirtation. They were oblivious to everything but the prospect of getting laid.

  Ben’s hand seared her arm. The sights and sounds of the restaurant faded as time slowed down. They both studied her wrist, the faint pink marks suddenly appearing blood red under his scrutiny. He didn’t move his hand, the weight of which seemed to bind her to the table. She watched as he slowly raised his gaze and looked at her through thick, dark lashes. Their eyes met and locked, just as they had so long ago. A potent current passed between them.

  Margaret was acutely aware of him as he clenched his jaw, drawing in a sharp breath through his nose. Neither moved or released the other’s eyes, but a small smile formed in the corners of his mouth. Finally, his eyes trailed over to her other wrist as he sat back in his chair. Without words, he looked back at her eyes, then covered wrist once again.

  He wants me to expose my other wrist to him. He wants to see what he already knows is there.

  Margaret watched on as if a passive bystander while her own hand reached over and pushed fabric up her suddenly chilled forearm. Distinct pink impressions emblazoned her wrist. Ben reached over, gently tracing his finger over the marks. Her body responded to his touch instantly - she held her breath as waves of sensation pulsed through her. Her pussy lips clenched below her tights, the fabric becoming moist and hot.

  Unable to pull her arm away, Margaret looked up to him with pleading eyes for him to stop - she just couldn’t take it - it was too much. He’d been watching her, his expression hard and aroused. Ben’s eyes held hers as a knowing smile returned - the gentle caress of his fingertip transformed into fiery pain as he scratched his fingernail across the already inflamed skin.

  “Fuck!”

  Margaret jerked her hand back just as the other members of their party turned quickly towards her.

  “I… I just remembered I’ve got to be somewhere.”

  Ben watched on in amusement.

  She hastily shook the reps hand. “I’m so sorry. This was a great dinner… very informative. I’ll be sure to try the samples as soon as I can.”

  Margaret hustled from her chair, grabbed her coat while saying her goodbyes, then bolted for the door. She kept her thoughts in check until entering her apartment, but as soon as she did, she walked with a single-minded purpose to her bedroom. Not bothering to grab her toys, she flung herself onto the bed, tore her clothes off and rubbed her clit furiously until she came with a strangled cry.

  Chapter Six

  Her tears wouldn’t stop, and even worse, they were making Ben hard again.

  It had been almost five months since the two of them had discussed moving beyond some of her limits, and together they’d found ways to help Sarah better tolerate the pain. Frequent positive stimuli, whether verbal or physical would dull the hurt for her. He found himself frequently complimenting her beauty, or assuring her of how proud he was of her. Ben would often add that she was a ‘good girl’ because he knew how much it meant to her. He’d purchased a Hitachi ‘massager’, and would press it against her wet folds and clit until her orgasms crashed one after another.

  Sarah knew that all of this flew in the face of his needs, which he knew made her worry more. Over the past months he’d begun to reveal to her facets of his sadism - the experiences he’d had in the past. She questioned how he found pleasure from causing her pain. How could he say he loved her, yet want to shame her? The dynamic between the two of them was shifting like quicksand beneath their feet, and neither knew how to find solid ground again.

  Tonight he’d paddled her hard. Very hard. She’d lain over his lap, head and chest supported by the bed - he had one leg over her limbs to hold her still. It had started with his hand, alternating between a series of spanks to her plump ass and smooth thighs with fingering her wet, tight pussy. They were both loving it, but Ben needed more.

  He‘d reached for the polished, wooden paddle, stroking it over the pink swells of her rounded cheeks. On impulse, he flipped the paddle over, and slowly pushed the handle up her cunt. Sarah had groaned with pleasure as the smooth wood slipped in and out, pressing deep inside of her.

  “Such a dirty little slut you are, your cunt juice is making a slippery mess of my paddle.”

  “Sir…,” she’d moaned.

  “Your cunt gets so fucking wet, Sarah, just imagine what else could be slipped up there.”

  He knew she didn’t like to be teased and felt her body begin to tense. But tonight, this is what he wanted - he wanted to push her… to agitate her.

  “Mmmm…, you love that Hitachi, don’t you? Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to push the whole goddamn thing up you? To watch that sweet cunt stretch obscenely around it?”

  His cock had been so hard he’d been ready to abandon everything to just fuck her, when she started to whine.

  Turning her head back to him, she looked at him with alarm.

  “Ben…, you’re freaking me out. I don’t like this.”

  He’d grabbed her hair, roughly pushing her head back into the bed.

  “Are you safewording, slut?”

  “N… No, but…”


  “Then shut up.”

  He’d felt her trembling beneath him.

  This is good - she needs to know.

  Abruptly he pulled the paddle handle out and presented it to her.

  “Lick it clean.”

  “Sir… Ben?”

  “Now!”

  Ben had watched as her pink tongue peeked out tentatively from between her lips, lapping at the handle. He enjoyed the deep blush that stained her cheeks - feeding off her embarrassment. Once it was clean, he wiped the handle dry against her face.

  “So you want to be my good girl, Sarah?”

  “Yes, sir… anything!”

  “Then stop calling me ‘sir’, cunt!”

  With that he began to paddle her ass as he’d never done before. One strike after the other, no pauses. He took care to spread out the blows, but did little to temper the force. He listened for her safeword, but it never came. Her cries and screams had his cock jerking under her - the color of her ass passing from pink to crimson, until darker blotches began to appear.

  So fucking beautiful.

  Throwing the paddle down, he’d roughly pushed her up the bed, still on her belly. Straddling her naked thighs, he pulled his scrub bottoms down, pulled out his cock, and stroked himself roughly until he shot his semen all over her bruised ass and thighs.

  He allowed himself to watch as the cum began to drip down the sides of her ass and between her crack, before collecting the towel from the bedside table and cleaning her off. Collapsing on the bed next to her, he pulled her up into his arms until her face was resting against his chest. Her body was wracked with choking, sobbing tears that never seemed to end.

  God, I’m a fucking bastard, but those tears are hot as hell.

  Through her tears, she whimpered, “I want to go home.”

  Oh shit.

  “Baby It’s okay. You’ll be okay. It’s just a few bruises. It felt so good to me, sweetie…. You took it well. I’m proud of you.”

  Ben stroked her hair, feeling her shudders begin to weaken.

  She sat up, wiping her tears from her eyes and cheeks on one of his pillows.

  “I don’t understand, Ben. I just don’t. How could it feel good to you - hurting me like that? Who finds pleasure in someone else's pain? I wish I understood. I really do.”

  Sarah flinched as she turned to sit on the side of the bed, no longer facing him.

  Ben knelt behind her, wrapping his arms around her own and gently hugged her - his chin resting on her shoulder.

  “I love you, Sarah.”

  She sighed, leaning into his arms.

  “Ben? What if I had said no? If I had used my safeword?”

  “I would have stopped.”

  “But you didn’t want to stop.”

  “No.”

  Her tears started again, this time slow drops beading in the corners of her eyes, before releasing and running down her cheeks

  “You…you’ve been rougher with me these past months. Are you mad at me? Have I done something to upset you?”

  He tightened his embrace, hating that he’d made her feel this way.

  “No, Sarah. Not at all. My desires aren’t based on anger or retribution. In fact, I make it a point to avoid rough play if I am upset.”

  Sarah slumped in his arms, and the two remained silent for a few minutes until she spoke again.

  “I think it’s best if I go tonight, don’t you think?”

  Ben suddenly felt weary.

  “Yes. I think we both need some time to think - to consider what we want from each other, and our futures.”

  He recognized that he said ‘futures’ rather than ‘future’, and wondered whether his subconscious already knew what he suspected.

  “When do you leave?” Sarah’s voice was sounding stronger now, but more shut off - very business-like.

  “In two days, but I’ve got an indoor soccer match tomorrow night. Could you meet for breakfast before my flight?”

  Ben was heading to his annual surgery conference, both to present and attend lectures. Sarah had joined him for a few days last year when it was in Seattle, a quick puddle-jump away, but this year it was across the country in Boston.

  “I’ve got a breakfast meeting with a client that morning.”

  Sarah pushed away from his embrace, staggering her first few steps. Much of the red on her soft cheeks and thighs had faded, leaving a landscape of varying purple blotches in its wake. Ben grabbed a bottle of lotion that he’d left on his bedside table for this reason.

  “Before you go, let me use some lotion on those bruises. It won’t heal them sooner, but it should feel good to you.”

  Her stoic demeanor broke for a moment as she looked at him with sad eyes.

  “No. I just want to go.”

  “Sarah…” His voice trailed off as she turned her back on him while putting on her clothes. He honestly had nothing left to say. She packed up her overnight bag, collected her work briefcase, and the two walked towards the front door together in silence.

  He brushed some errant hair away from her eyes as he looked down at her.

  “I love you.”

  She nodded - her eyes downcast.

  “I love you too, Ben, but it hurts knowing I can’t give you what you want.”

  He didn’t deny what she said was true, but instead leaned down and kissed her lips softly before pulling away.

  “This is it. Isn’t it?” She looked him squarely in the eyes as she asked.

  “It might be, Sarah. It may be the best for both of us. I’ll call when I get into Boston - then we’ll talk when I get back.”

  He walked her to her car, and she was gone.

  Margaret was relieved to be upgraded to first class, especially with a flight time of over five hours. She settled into her window seat, next to a woman in a crisp business suit, her laptop already open to a power-point lecture. She felt a little rumpled in her tunic sweater, leggings and boots, but she’d dressed for comfort. The flight was full, and she found it difficult to focus on her book while all of the other passengers boarded.

  She watched the back of a tall, lean man as he pushed his carry-on into the last remaining overhead compartments, admiring how his well-worn jeans rode low on the hips, held in place by an old, brown leather belt. He turned around as he pulled a black fleece up over his head, and she could see his face.

  Ben.

  Margaret’s breath caught as the two just stared at each other - the full impact of why he would be on the same flight hit Margaret hard and fast.

  Of course he’d be going to the same conference…. Just play it cool, it’s a big meeting and you’ll probably be going to different lectures - you might not even see him.

  She watched as the flight attendant asked Ben to take his seat, two rows up and across the aisle from her. He gave her a slight smile and nod - in response Margaret waved and whispered ‘hi’. Once sat, she couldn’t see him, which she was thankful for. Watching Ben Lewis for the next five plus hours would be way too dangerous. Her fantasies of him had been ratcheting up as of late, and she didn’t need any more ammunition.

  Once airborne, Margaret ordered a vodka with orange juice to drink with her breakfast, then quickly ordered another in the hopes they would knock her out for the rest of the flight. She was feeling quite relaxed, when around an hour into the flight Ben rose from his seat and approached her seat mate.

  “Excuse me,” he asked politely.

  Miss Business looked up from her work and immediately smiled when she saw Ben. Margaret understood the feeling. With his height - at least six foot three - he seemed to fill the space in front of them with his masculine form. He was wearing a relaxed navy blue button down, the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows exposing well-defined forearms. He was smiling down at both of them, unaware of his own charm.

  God he’s a handsome man.

  Ben asked the woman, “I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind trading seats with me. My colleague and I are heading to a conference and n
eed to go over a few things.”

  “What? Oh…”

  The woman’s disappointment was palpable, but she recovered quickly and began to collect her belongings.

  “Of course,” she said crisply looking back at Margaret’s two empty vodka bottles, “No problem.”

  Margaret watched on, stunned, as Ben collected his fleece and a book, and filled the seat next to her. Glad for the two vodkas she’d consumed - without which she might have sunk into a panic at the prospect of sitting next to him for the next four hours. She wracked her mind thinking of something to say as he looked at her with quiet amusement. Finally he spoke, almost startling her.

  “It seemed silly for me to be sitting over there… with you over here.”

  She let out her breath and smiled.

  “True.”

  “Listen, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while - I’m sorry for the night at the restaurant - I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  Even though it had been close to six months ago, Margaret recalled the night vividly, especially late at night when she was alone in bed.

  She blushed a little as she remembered how she’d reacted.

  “I did run out of there like a bat from hell, didn’t I?”

  Ben flashed her a beaming smile which warmed Margaret immediately. Letting her guard down she added, “I’m sorry if I’ve been less than warm since getting to Portland. I could have handled seeing you a lot more maturely. It’s just… our history. It’s important to me to keep my private life, well, private.”

  “I feel the same, Margaret. You don’t have to worry about it from me. I have no desire for my… tastes… to be out there either.”

  It wasn’t lost on her that he had said ‘tastes’ in the present tense, indicating that nothing had changed since college, although the night at the restaurant confirmed those suspicions already.

  “I trust you. I do.”

  Margaret suddenly blushed furiously as she remembered something from so long ago. Apparently Ben could see it too.

  “What? What are you remembering?”

  Whether it was the cocktails or she was just finally ready to be candid, Margaret answered honestly.