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by Rachel De Lune

  “Oh God, no. Seb, please. I can’t take it anymore, please.” It’s too much for me. Tears fall from my eyes, instantly absorbed by the blindfold. Every fibre of my body is screaming for release but I hold it in. I don’t want this. My climax is bearing down on me, the pressure mingling with the pain and adding to my impending release. I want to give in to my body’s demands, but Seb won’t award me that pleasure. His fingers retreat. His hand strokes my fiery bottom, and he slaps me several times with an open palm. I jerk with every hand fall. The pain swamps my mind. I don’t want to be with Seb like this. The brush of his legs tells me where he is. He stands behind me and runs his hard cock through my wet folds, covering himself in my juices. He surges forward, penetrating me hard and deep.

  “Argh!” My cry rips from my throat as I’m assaulted again by the sensations he compels from me. He stills for a moment and moves his hands around to my front. His voice is a harsh whisper in my ear.

  “This might hurt, baby. Take a deep breath.”

  I don’t understand his words. He cups my breast and then I understand. A searing pain rushes to my breasts as he releases the first and then the second clamp before he pumps into me.

  I’m sobbing now. He’s massaging feeling back into my breasts. They feel heavy and sensitive, and it adds yet more fuel to the fire that burns wild inside my body. I’m hurting and I haven’t climaxed. My body is screaming at me and I want to retreat from Seb. He releases my breasts and grips my hips to anchor himself as he powers into me.

  My arms give out and I collapse to the bed.

  My abused nipples scream at the contact while Seb’s cock splits me in two. It’s too much. I’m overwhelmed. I feel abused rather than cherished.

  “Stop, please, Seb. Stop,” I sob out, my throat raw with emotion. Seb has never once been like this—this intense, this painful. He’s given me too much stimulation at once. The paddle was the item I was scared of. I knew it could hurt, but I trusted that Seb would know how to use it to extract pleasure. With all the new sensations bombarding me, I can’t find the connection to Seb, the one that we were so quick to establish. I’m lost inside my head with just the heated pain and my fears. Seb doesn’t stop, and I fear he’s lost the control that he’s always kept in check.

  I grit my teeth, clench my fists and try to block it all out, but I can’t. He seeks out my clit with the tip of his finger and I nearly convulse off the bed. Despite my mind telling me that I don’t like how Seb is acting, my body is still burning to climax.

  “Yes, Isabel. Yes. Come with me,” Seb growls. His finger suddenly rubs my clit in quick circles and I know that I will. He thrusts a few more times. The frustration and feelings that have been growing inside me finally edge closer to release. Fire rages through me. I don’t want to come. Not like this. I don’t want a climax ripped from my body rather than willingly given. Painful thrusts penetrate me and my orgasm explodes around his cock, pulsing and drawing him in deeper. I’m left broken as it washes through my body, unable to cope with the feelings that come from it. I don’t want the pleasure that he has forced from me. Finally, he stops and he slowly pulls out of me.

  As soon as I’m free, I crawl up the bed and sag into the pillows. I wrap my arms around myself and sob, giving in to the wave of emotions. Resting on my side, I pull my knees up tight. Protectively.

  “Izzy, god, Izzy. That was… Let me get your blindfold, Izzy.” Seb’s voice is close, but I don’t want him near me.

  “No!” I grab for the blindfold, tear it off and throw it to the floor.

  “Shhh, baby,” he croons at me, but I don’t want to hear it.

  “No. Please, just… don’t touch me. Don’t… Don’t touch me.”

  “Izzy, please.” Now it’s Seb who’s pleading. I pull myself up and try to get off the bed. My legs are weak and I feel as if I may fall, but I make it to the door.

  “Stop, Izzy. What’s wrong?”

  I turn to him so he can see my tear-stained face. I must look a state.

  “Oh, Izzy. Why are you crying? Come here. I need to take care of you.”

  “Take care of me? You hurt me, Seb. I… I didn’t know how to stop you. You wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t listen to me.” I must look confused and lost as my words hang in the air between us.

  “No,” he shakes his head, but his brows knit together before his focus returns to me. Scrutinising me. “You were fine. You didn’t say…” His hands fist at his sides as anger and regret register across his face. “Black. Izzy, you didn’t say black. I thought you were okay. God, Izzy.” His fists continue to flex and he drops his head. “We were good. It was so powerful, you letting me… I’m sorry. You didn’t say black.” He steps towards me and I let him, his arms inch out, careful not to startle me. His embrace is rigid with tension and the contact puts my nerves back up. I move away and can see the pain darken his eyes. My heart wants to stay with him, to reassure him, but my body isn’t quite ready yet. I need to be on my own, to process my own thoughts. I turn from him, walk as fast as I can to my room, and close the door behind me.

  I must have been asleep for a while. The light has faded in the sky and the room is cast in shadows. As I let my eyes adjust, I remember why I’m in my room alone. The blindfold, being tied, the vibrator, the nipple clamps, the paddle. I turn over onto my back and wince as the cotton sheets rub against my sore behind. I ache from head to foot. My head is pounding, probably because I’ve barely eaten or drunk anything all day. And the crying.

  Where is Seb? The pain etched on his face once he realised I wasn’t okay is what I remember most. Now that I’m calm, I want to check he’s okay. But what do I say? Something happened to Seb earlier. He wouldn’t normally act that way towards me. Up to a point, I wanted everything Seb was giving to me. Even with all he put me through, he still made me come—my body wanting what he gave to me. He brought me to the edge so many times. My head and my emotions couldn’t keep up. I didn’t know what to do with it all.

  I need to speak to Seb and talk all of this through. It wasn’t the same as the other times we’ve been together. He’d always been careful. He was introducing me to this lifestyle gently. There was nothing that felt gentle about earlier. I normally feel more connected to him after we’ve been intimate. This is uncharted water. It’s as if he reached a new point with me today. His focus was on what he was doing to me, not on me. It gave me a glimpse of what might be hidden beneath his muscled body—a need that went beyond what he’s already shown me. Perhaps all the previous times had been a warm up for him. Warming me up to show me the joy of submission before sampling the pain that can also come from it? No. Seb would never intentionally hurt me. I know he cares for me. This was as much my fault as his. I didn’t realise that saying stop wouldn’t make him stop. He told me, but I didn’t understand the true meaning of his words. I was too eager, too excited. I need to apologise.

  I pull on my robe and crack the door open to peep out. The rest of the apartment is quiet and shrouded in darkness. I walk to his room and push the door open but he’s not inside. As I continue down the hall to the living room, I see him sitting on the floor against the wall. His head is slumped forward, his arms propped on his knees. Hanging from his hand is what looks like a champagne bottle. I take a closer look around the room and notice several things out of place. The table by the sofa is knocked over. There is another bottle of champagne lying on the floor, empty. Glass shards litter the floor by the door. How did I not hear all of this? As I survey the wreck, I notice Seb lifting the bottle and taking a drink. I’m suddenly nervous.

  “Seb, are you alright?” My voice is weak even to my own ears, and I’m not even sure he’s heard me. “Seb, are you alright? Come on. Talk to me?” This is partly my fault. If I wanted to stop, I could have, but my safeword hadn’t crossed my mind since we first talked about it. “Seb, can you hear me?” I step closer to him and kneel down by his side. He lifts his head and locks eyes with me. They are glassy and unfocused against his pale face.


  “Izzy… Hey, baby.” His words are slurred and his usual chocolate smooth voice is hoarse and gravelly.

  “Have you been out here all evening?” I wait to see whether Seb can string a sentence together, concerned that he’s downed several bottles of champagne in a few hours.

  “Yes, I’ve been out here. ” He starts to stand up but stumbles as he rights himself and braces against the wall. “Seems I can’t even get drunk enough to pass out.”

  “I’m sorry. I am. Perhaps we can talk about it when you’ve slept this off. Come on, Seb. Let me help you get to bed. ”

  “No. You should be running by now Isabel. That’s what you do—run. Why aren’t you out the door?”

  “Seb, please. I don’t want to run, but you’re drunk and I can’t talk to you like this.”

  “Come on now, Isabel. Aren’t you ready to run back to your safe, boring marriage now?”

  Tears trickle down my face once more. My eyes sting as I try to blink them away. My heart beats faster and my aching body is suddenly numb. All I can hear is my heart beating in my ears. I don’t understand. Why he is saying he wants me to leave? I want to talk to him about why I reacted the way I did.

  “No, please. I’m sorry I came apart earlier. I don’t want to go.” I talk to the floor. I can’t bear to look at him for fear of seeing the rejection and disapproval I hear in his voice.

  At this moment, I realise it doesn’t matter what happened in his bedroom. I was as much to blame as he was. I need to learn to communicate and not be so frightened to speak my mind. If I’d done that before retreating to my room, Seb wouldn’t be here drunk. We can get past this, though, I know we can.

  “Seb, please. You’re drunk—”

  “Yes, well done, Isabel. How perceptive of you. I’m very drunk. Why are you still here? I’m damn sure I’ve shown you ‘more’ by now. Or have I not fulfilled my part of the deal yet? You get a walk on the wild side and what do I get? What’s in this for me, Isabel?” His voice is raised, his words slurred. All I hear is a bitter anger. He walks towards the armchair—his armchair—and I try to follow him.

  “Go, Isabel. There’s the door.”

  “Please, Seb, don’t push me away. I’m not running. I won’t run. I’m sorry.” I plead with him. I don’t want to lose him. I love him.

  “Yes. You. Will. You wanted to play out your fantasy but you got scared. Well, the tour is over. Go back to your marriage.”

  “I don’t want to!” I scream the words at him. He looks at me and then towards the door before he launches the champagne bottle at it. It crashes against the wood, smashing into a thousand pieces. As the glass falls to the floor, my heart echoes its action, breaking into a hundred pieces.

  “I said there’s the door.” With that, he stumbles his way past me and down the hall towards his room. The door slams behind him.

  I need to leave.

  I go back to change into my clothes from earlier and grab my bag from the wardrobe. The velvet box is sitting in its usual place, the anklet nestled safely inside. It wasn’t around my ankle. Did it matter? I want to submit to Seb. I have since the first time we were together. That hasn’t changed. I grab the box and open it. The overwhelming urge to take it with me has me closing the box in my hand. But it’s not mine to take. It was a gift and a sign of my submission—our secret language. I pause and close my eyes. Tears have escaped the corners of my eyes, but I don’t care. I let them fall and put the box back down and leave it in my room.

  Moving silently through the apartment, I dig his key fob out of my bag and leave it on the kitchen counter. Part of me wants to write a note to say that I was sorry. I wanted to ask him why he went so far. Why he didn’t listen to me? Would it be like that again? Would it be so intense and overwhelming? A thousand thoughts stream through my head and I can’t focus on just one. I leave. He made his feelings pretty clear.

  I walk to the front door. The glass crushes beneath my feet and as it splinters under my weight my heart aches for the man who I have barely begun to love. I came here to escape my marriage and found someone who I could be my true self with. Who I could give all of myself to. He opened a door that I always assumed would be closed to me, the one that took me to a place where I felt wanted, desired and free to experience my internal desires.

  Now, with my heart in pieces, I open the door of Seb’s apartment and creep over the threshold that only a few weeks ago held so much promise.

  The door echoes in the hall as it closes behind me. Unsurprisingly, the house is empty, with no sign of Phil. I drag my body up the stairs, fall into bed and curl myself into a tight ball. I feel drained of everything. My eyes are sore and puffy and I desperately want to let my emotions win and have a good cry, but I can’t. If I start, I may never stop.

  I watch the numbers tick over on the clock on the bedside table and try to make sense of the last few days. I think back to when Seb and I met, when we were friends. Would I have preferred not to take the step that led to us being lovers? Would I have been happy to settle at always wondering, always hoping that Phil would work harder at our marriage? Would I stop the affair and work at getting back to where we used to be?

  Lying in bed feeling as numb and broken as I do, I can’t answer those questions. I’m not ready to analyse anything. I try to close my eyes, but when I do, I see the drunken glazed look in Seb’s eyes before he told me to leave.

  I will my body into getting up and looking after some basic needs—eat, drink, and take a shower—there isn’t anything else I want to do.

  It’s nearly five in the morning. I must have slept because I don’t know where the time has gone. I’ve lost a day. I’m supposed to be up and going to work in a few hours, but the idea of that makes my stomach turn. I pull the duvet over my head and wrap up tight, trying to cocoon myself from the outside, from everything and everyone. Even Seb.

  The alarm wakes me but I immediately turn it off.

  I’ve been over Saturday so many times in my head I’m not sure what really happened and what is my own thoughts playing tricks on me. I’ve not moved since coming home in the early hours of Sunday morning and although I still don’t want to do anything, my bladder is in desperate need and I should check my phone, if only to call work. Hobbling to the bathroom, my body is stiff from the bed rest. My phone is dead so I plug it in and check for messages. There is one text from Seb.

  Sorry. S

  Reading that one word sets me off. My eyes sting as they fill and overflow with tears. My legs crumble. I slump on the floor and bury my face in the bed, crying about everything that those few letters convey: my pain and my hurt heart, the worry about my feelings being reciprocated, my marriage. It’s all been below the surface. I’m scared as well. I’m in love with another man and I don’t know whether I’ll ever see him again. The thought hits me in the stomach, and I rush to the toilet and heave into the bowl. I’ve not eaten for a while so nothing comes up, but that doesn’t stop the nausea. At least now I can legitimately say I’m too ill to work.

  The day comes and goes, and I spend most of it wallowing in bed. After getting over the initial shock of possibly never seeing Seb again, I calm down enough to make some sense out of all of this mess. There isn’t anything to say that I’ll never see him again. No matter how I look at the situation, I have no regret over meeting or being with Seb. He made me feel more alive, more connected to someone than I ever have before. What we shared was more than just a physical connection. Our relationship was real, even if it wasn’t conventional. If there is ever to be the smallest chance of having anything with Seb, I must first settle things with Phil.

  We’ve been skirting around the issue of our marriage for weeks and it’s time to be grown-up about it. Phil wouldn’t answer my confrontation the last time we argued. I won’t have that again.

  Seb once told me to have courage, and now I feel that I need it more than ever. I grab my phone and call Phil but it goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a message but send a text.

  P
hil, I’m home. It’s time to talk.

  I press send and wait. And wait. It strikes me that I’ve been at home since early Sunday morning and haven’t seen Phil. Surprise, surprise! I crawl back into bed and try to get some rest. Before I fall asleep, I send a text to Jess to fill her in. I need someone on my side at the moment.

  When the alarm goes off the next morning, I decide to ignore it again. I doze before making myself call into work.

  “Hi, Mark,” I mumble, my voice weak and tight with emotion.

  “Hey, Izzy. Are you feeling better?”

  “Um, no. I’m not doing very well and doubt I’ll be in for the next few days.”

  “Okay, well, thanks for letting me know. I hope you feel better soon, and make sure you let me know when you’ll be back to work.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  I seem to be able to sleep much more easily now, and I drift in and out for most of the day. I make it downstairs to cook some pasta. I take a few mouthfuls, but that’s all I can stomach.

  The house is still quiet, and it makes me sad to see where I could end up at the end of all of this. Completely alone. Suddenly this is all so serious. I’m looking at leaving my husband with no guarantee of anything after it. But should that stop me? Seb and I never talked about being together. He said he would show me what submission and dominance can be like. That he’d give me what I’ve been pining after through my Tumblr blog and BDSM sites, not jump into a relationship with a married woman, or a married woman seeking a divorce.

  Divorce. It doesn’t seem so distant now. Perhaps this is what I should have done weeks ago. Before Seb, I would never have thought this was a way out or even a possibility. Now… I should be proud that I’m making progress of some kind, but I’m not. It numbs me further.

  It’s not only the house that is quiet, so is my phone. No calls or texts from Phil and nothing further from Seb. Not even Jess has gotten in touch. I’m desperate to speak to someone, to have someone reassure me about my life, but I’m on my own. I shouldn’t need anyone else. This is my life, and I have to take charge of it.