Lele’s seduction wasn’t subtle. She knew what she wanted and unapologetically took it. Her fingers untied the robe revealing all of my bareness. I thought of the first time we were together and how I changed throughout four weeks. I had felt the need to hide and close in—almost ashamed of who I was, and what my figure represented—but now, I welcomed her touch wholeheartedly, without hesitation.
“I want to taste you, Anna.”
Keeping the robe on, I moved to the bed and sat on the edge. I was fully prepared to scoot back and allow room, but Lele knelt quickly before me. The simple act of her kneeling turned me on and caused waves of excitement to rush through me. I wanted her tongue, her fingers, and her lover to fill the gaping wounds that Jake punctured me with earlier in the day.
With the slickness pulsing from my folds, she focused in on my ripe nub and flicked her tongue out with abandon. She wasn’t holding back, and neither was I. Her fingers eased up between my legs and thrust into my wetness as she suckled me. My hands fell to her hair as I immediately understood why men demanded fellatio the way they did. Being sucked off was an incredible sensation.
Letting the pads of my fingers trace the outline of her face, I whispered, “Don’t you dare stop, Lele. Give me all of your love.”
I acknowledged we were not about love, nor were we in love, but her guiding me through the perilous waters of sex like this was love. We were girl-on-girl before it was posh and hip. I kissed many girls, but Lele always held a special place in my heart because she was confident enough to trust me. And that trust brought her to her knees.
The submissive act in kneeling before another would be a thread throughout my life, but it took Lele showing me the effects of it (on myself) to understand the impact truly. It was permission to move forward and continue, to be humble and full of gratitude. I realized why when I knelt before Jake his erection turned to stone.
Kneeling was an unspoken declaration of I trust you.
Until Lele did it, I never acknowledged the gravity of being on my knees and the silent contract that formed. With her lips wrapped tight around my clit, I let go of all my inhibitions as my submissive gave her my full trust so her Dominant could let go.
The power struggle between D/s and what it meant, I learned not from a man but Lele. I didn’t understand until she provided the vocabulary I could understand. Male Dom’s had a sexy allure, but they weren’t necessarily fluent in the feminine language. Without a female offering to connect the dots, I might have never made it to a place of understanding.
Her clarification lesson ended with one hand on my breast, her other pounding into my puddle, and her unrelenting mouth savoring every drop I had. For the first time, I came hard under someone’s tongue, and when I did, the light clicked on in my darkened world.
As I recovered, she bit at her lip and smiled. “I have to go, or I’m going to be in trouble for being late. There is makeup and jewelry in the bag, too.”
And after she left, I cried.
I cried for all that I have given up so carelessly. I cried for all the time I wasted. I cried for all the orgasms I could’ve experienced. I cried for the weak girl lying beneath a monster.
But I… I was no longer her.
I managed to do my makeup, and I coated it on, heavy and thick like I was going out on stage. I curled my hair, and the huge curls bounced against my shoulders.
Being without the things that made me a girl had brought indescribable anxiety to me. I didn’t mind being naked, particularly with only several people in the house, but having the simplest of things urged on the whole reality of the situation.
My perceptions were influenced by the fact that I had spent almost two weeks with nothing. And the twisted part of it was—clothes felt foreign as I slipped on the undergarments. I had gotten used to doing everything with nothing. From eating to cleaning, I paraded about in my birthday suit without batting a lash. I had become comfortable in my own skin.
And that being at ease in my flesh was one of the best gifts I would take away from my time at L’Académie.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I didn't recognize the girl who I once was. With cherry red lips and long black false eyelashes, I was the girl of my former existence. It felt backwards. How I could feel so whole and bare at the same time within the walls of a fetish school was unbelievable.
I wanted to take it all off. I wanted to strip myself down. I wanted to go back to the girl I was moments before—when everything felt real, honest, and pure. I wasn't a fool; I knew what they wanted to do to me.
But not like this.
Not dressed up like a sacrificial virgin in a schoolgirl get up.
I didn't need to be this girl to fulfill every fantasy they had. I brushed my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. I tossed the shirt off and washed the shit from my face. If they wanted me, they would take the new me they built because the old me wasn’t coming back.
I blotted a bit of pink lipstick on and applied a light coat of mascara. I stripped off the panties and the bra. Leaving the prim and proper shirt untucked, I tied it up revealing my belly, and then I swished my feet into the lovely black high-heeled Victorian boots.
An amazing feeling washed through me.
I was no longer the showgirl on Dick’s stage. I was no longer the darling angel ready to take on the mob. I was no longer capable of being just a friend but a lover.
I gazed at my reflection again. This time a more accurate representation was given as my wicked naughty doll looked more than ready to be their slut—a whore of my creating.
And I was ready for their discipline.
Les Pétales was an old, creaky manor, and I remember every detail as I proudly pranced through her hallways to the dungeon. Every wall was covered in majestic wallpaper—fleur de lis or flowers. I smiled at the memories I had made in the last month.
With the ornate wooden trimmings as my frame, I would spend hours on the highly polished floors, staring the ceilings with their golden fixtures, and soaking up their shining rays of sunshine.
I dreamed of happy places—full of abundance, beauty, and endless amounts of understanding. Knowing how the fetish worked in the text was one thing, but embracing the actual concept had proven difficult for me until the moment with Lele. In fairness, those around me hadn’t helped matters. Their messages were confusing to someone who didn’t speak the language of sadomasochism, and I rebelled.
I guess it was then—as I was meandering closer to my night in the dungeon—that I wanted to do it better. Dark wooden doors and spooky signals only served to frighten the illiterate. I wanted full disclosure and a rigid course on teaching the mental makeup before stepping into the dungeon. I wasn’t dismissing the lessons of my teachers but expanding them as I knew it could be done better.
I started making mental notes and lists of things that bothered me as a submissive. First of which was no one even remotely mentioning to me that I was now their sex slave in training. I blamed Jake, but he only knew what he too had been taught. I didn’t hold him in contempt.
In thinking outside of the box, I would break the mold they had used for years. I would be seen as difficult—the odd woman out—so I needed to make damn sure I knew what I was doing before I ever attempted to teach another with my new and improved lessons.
And that meant, I needed to get into the dungeon as much as possible. I needed them to train me so that I could modify and correct their missed steps. I also understood I couldn’t argue with them—they were Doms; I was the sub—and back then, there was no room for debate. I couldn’t correct them or express my own feelings about their training. I would’ve been classified as pushy and suffered the consequences. But I needed their lessons if I wanted to form my own structure of how submissives should be treated.
I needed to be the guinea pig if I wanted to change the dialogue. And God did I want to change the narrative. Submissives deserved far better than what they were being given.
As I opened the door to the terrace,
I flipped to the last page of the book in my submission and quietly declared I would try to be one of the final old school girls. I glanced at Sir Dane and Sir Jake as they sat having cocktails and I imagined them—on their knees before me—not as a sign of submission but respect. It would never happen, but the idea piqued a thousand other thoughts.
Sir Dane smirked at me as the keeper of my secrets, and ultimate prick appeared unmoved. His emotionless reaction was expected, and I paid him little attention. I ignored him, but that didn’t mean I stopped feeling. His distant energy was unsavory, almost scathing, but I had no idea what I did to piss him off.
Lele was nowhere to be seen as I approached the table. I noted the presence of only two chairs, both of which were occupied. The rebel in me wanted to plop my ass on the table, but instead, I lowered to my knees between them. I would take what I saw as their flawed behaviors and attitudes, and I would attempt to change them—in time.
Men couldn’t be Dominants if they weren’t gentlemen.
The key was—to never stop learning. I fell in love with those books Jake had given me, and I loved my time at Les Pétales. My fierce love of submission and Dominance and the psychology that went into both would see my mind through to the other side. I could never have done what I wanted to do if I didn’t love it passionately.
Mostly because my heart wanted to be spread on the table, but my head knew better. The internal dialogue between my good girl and the bad girl in me would need to be sequestered and compromises made for the sake of furthering my submissive journey. Patience was becoming my best friend as I continuously observed and learned.
“You look lovely, Anna,” Sir Dane complimented as he offered me a crust of bread from his fingers. His eyes drifted over my cleavage, and the stiff peaks of my nipples were rising beneath the fabric. “Very interesting clothing choices you’ve made.”
The fury built in Jake as I noted his fist clenching on the table at my eye level. My gaze darted to his expression. His strong-angled jawline was repeatedly popping in anger as he tried to keep his composure.
Sir Dane’s finger ran across my wet lips as I looked at him wantonly.
“You know—I can’t do this tonight,” Jake suddenly declared as he stood up and tossed his napkin on the table. “Forgive me, Dane.”
Sir Dane proudly snarled and nodded as Jake hastily exited.
“You want him?” Sir Dane asked with a nod. “Because it is clear he wants you.”
I never expected to be asked such a question, but I whispered, “Yes.”
“Go get him, girl.”
Emergence
CHAPTER 8
Slipping off my shoes, I ran as fast as I could after Jake. Through the slicked, gleaming wooden floors, I flourished—awakening like a butterfly emerging from her slumbering cocoon. I spread my wings and flew wild—searching, praying, hoping—to find him. There was no stopping me. No collapsing my wings and shoving me back into the former nest.
This night was my metamorphosis.
And my unbecoming—carrying on rampantly through the manor and unraveling the sticky webs holding me back. I dove headfirst into an abyss of madness—with behavior utterly inappropriate for a well-kept slave of their modern world. My actions were gravely punishable.
My name was Anna.
And I was a lusting submissive, passionately in love with Jake.
While I had taken my time dressing for dinner, I didn’t hesitate to chase what I wanted. I skidded by Wilma Manley and tried to slow down to a speedy pace, but she would hear nothing of it.
In her school marm, high-throated dress, she cleared her throat and spoke loudly in her screeching British accent, “There will be no running in the manor, Miss Ford.”
With love in my heart brimming over for Jake, I disrespectfully snapped, “Where did he go?”
Rolling her eyes, she hissed, “… He who, Miss Ford?”
There were only a handful of men on the property.
And she damn well knew who I wanted.
“Anna, he is leaving!” I heard Lele yell from behind me. “He’s outside!”
“If you run,” Manley warned, crossing her thick arms over her overgrown bosom. “You will be in detention tomorrow, Miss Ford!”
Darting off, I yelled, “You can punish me for a week!”
I sprinted outside to the gravel driveway where I saw Jake straddling over a motorcycle. He revved the engine as we stared at one another. Decision time—stay or go—but I didn’t think. Dropping my pretty shoes on the rocks, I soared towards him and leaped onto the back of the bike.
I should note: I do not recommend ever riding a motorcycle barefoot.
But I was crazy in love with this man. And I would have stood on the handlebars naked to get his attention if that was what it took.
He dismounted and shoved a helmet on my head. I found it endearing, and I held onto the remote possibility that he might release the anger he seemed to feel towards me. And then he shucked his leather jacket and helped me into it. His kindness dripped, but his eyes still filled with rage.
But why?
I had no idea.
After remounting the seat, he commanded, “Hang the fuck on!”
Lacing my arms around his chest, I laid my head against his shoulder as we sped away from Les Pétales. His driving was reckless as we surrendered to the night and found bliss on darkened deserted highways. It didn’t matter where we were going or what we were doing. I was with Jake, and that was all that mattered.
I trusted his responsibility for my mind, body, and soul; I knew he would deliver me safely to whatever destination he chose. My only wish was that he not abandon me. I’d rather have his fury than be without him. I accepted the consequences of my tight-lipped vow—to stand by Jake—and whatever that meant.
My skirt billowed up as I pressed my bare crotch to his denim-covered ass. I was turned on, needy, and desperate for his attention. I would have done anything he asked of me that night.
At one point, I attempted to drop my hand to his dick, but he swiftly placed it back upon his chest. Tears brimmed in my eyes as the wind burned my cheeks and his rejection stung my heart.
I worried we were lop-sided. I believed, he didn’t want me—at all.
In the middle of a forest, we suddenly stopped, and Jake mumbled, “Get off.”
Though it was summer, the nights were chilly. A shiver ran through my feet and up my bare legs. He popped the helmet from my head and scanned over my innocent and trembling face as he quickly departed and left me on the side of the road. He raced off to where I could no longer see or hear him.
“What the fuck have I done?” I muttered, crying. “Why do you hate me so much?”
I didn’t understand why he chased me in Vegas only to run away from me in France. In both places, I had done every single thing he asked of me. I had given my all to him, but nothing about his actions made sense anymore. We weren’t even friends. And then I remembered, as I was walking down the grass-covered hill to the tree line, the words Lele had said to me.
“I’m not your friend, Anna; I’m your lover. I’ve tasted the sweetness of your swollen fruit and dunked my tongue into its succulence. I’ve heard you come and seen you writhe; we are not friends. You need to learn this concept before it stings you so hard that it leaves a permanent scar.”
Without thinking, I meandered into the forest as I mulled over her lesson. I was pacing to an unknown destination, going deeper into the woods without even considering how stupid it was. I was so caught up in Jake’s actions and Lele’s words and how I could apply it to our relationship, I didn’t realize I was lost until I dipped my bare toes in a creek.
Oh. Shit.
Maybe he didn’t consider us friends. I had sucked the man dry more than I could count, but he never touched me. I was his lover, but he wasn’t mine. I turned fast as my revelation exploded in my mind. I had to tell him I was his. I had to tell him I wanted him the way he wanted me.
I couldn’t see more than a f
ew feet in front of my face. The twigs and rocks beneath my feet scratched and bruised as I tried to extract myself from the grip of the woodlands. The canopy above my head shielded the midnight sky and sparkling stars. Without the moon, I was blind.
I was determined to evade Jake’s callous bullying, but all I did was blindfold myself from seeing his truth. And now that I had, I was lost—truly lost. The more I tried not to let my fears get the best of me, the further they crept into my mind.
Panicked, I ran fast. I was afraid. I was terrified.
Abducted by the trees, I was swallowed by their limb-like arms and savagely attacked by the terrain. Without considering what I was doing, my toes twisted up beneath a ground root as I lunged up a hill. My body scraped along the jagged terrain as I tumbled toward the creek. I fell hard. My ankle hurt. I rubbed my arm, and the sticky goo of blood coated my fingers.
I tried to get up, but I couldn’t.
I was sure I would be stuck in the woods with no chance of ever being found. It was one more thing I had done wrong. One more mark on my quickly growing list of fuck-ups. And with no other choice, I burrowed to the dirt and sobbed for all the things lost.
Including the one I believed I loved most.
In the debris, I once again tried to scurry to my feet, but everything ached. Eventually, my tears subsided as I embraced the mess I’d managed to get myself into. I visualized myself clawing out of the woods and emerging on the road to be picked up by a passerby. They would take me to a hospital where I would recover, but then what?
Jake still wouldn’t be mine.
So what was the point of even being found?
If my thoughts sounded macabre, it’s because they were. After three years of ups and downs, I finally knew what I wanted. And I couldn’t have it. I returned to sulking in the leaves. My cold, damp body shivered as the only warmth I had belonged to Jake—his lined leather jacket smelled like him.
Bad Girl: Les Pétales Page 8
