Fall in Love

by Anthology

  “Please, mistress.” The young guy looks up at his mistress with huge brown eyes. “I want to be punished. I need to be punished.”

  That word hits me hard. Punished. I guess I always felt I was punished for not being strong, for not being courageous enough to protect myself.

  In a way, I guess I’ve always felt that what happened to me at the hands of my stepfather happened because I was being punished for all my weaknesses and failings. If I had been a stronger person, it never could have happened.

  Of course I was a kid, but my soul doesn’t get the logic of that. My soul sees the world in black and white. Bad things happened. Maybe I deserved them because I didn’t have courage.

  “Are you okay, Mia?”

  I hear Jonathon’s voice, but it sounds far away. I look at this young guy and wonder—is this really what he wants, or has he woven a complex fabric of guilt and pain and hurt and need for more hurt? How do you ever know?

  “Please. I need punishment,” he whispers. “I was disobedient.”

  Something snaps in me. “Really you don’t,” I counter. It comes out louder than I expected. But the words rush out. “No one should accept being hit. You don’t deserve to get whipped, paddled, or hurt for whatever bad thing you perceive you’ve done. What you need to do is get your head sorted out. You need to be healed, not beaten.”

  I walk away.

  Behind me, the mistress says to Jonathon, “Your submissive is not very well trained.”

  “It’s my club,” Jonathon says, his voice like frost on an arctic iceberg. “I train my subs as I see fit.”

  I’ve stopped running away—well, striding away very fast and I can overhear them speak.

  “I beg your pardon, Master,” the woman says. Her imperious voice is now filled with contrition.

  Jonathon’s long strides bring him to me in moments.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “No one is to judge in here. We accept that we may not share the same interests and desires, but we respect it.”

  “No judgement. I can see why people come.”

  “The people who come here are not all people who have been abused. True, some are, but that has nothing to do with why they are here. It’s just a statistical number, in the same way you would find victims of abuse in a restaurant or shopping at the mall.”

  I shake my head. I don’t quite believe him.

  “Think about it, Mia. Not all people who are abused come to BDSM clubs. There are many people here who have had happy upbringings, but their brains are wired to enjoy this kind of sex.”

  “I guess,” I say.

  I don’t know what kind of person I would have been without the abuse. I don’t know how much it moulded my personality, my psyche, my sexuality. I’ll never know. The choice of how I might have developed was taken away from me.

  Anyway, does it matter why the young male sub wants to be punished? If he’s happy, am I right to condemn him? Even if the guy needs this to cope with stuff, he’s coping in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone else.

  I’ve tried to cope by shoving stuff into a kind of closet in my head. I don’t think that’s the best answer.

  Can I forgive myself for my mistakes, for going along with what happened to me? For years, I tried, but the self-destructive tendencies always won out. The only way I found to cope was to pretend I was someone else. To pretend I was the good girl I might have been if I hadn’t been abused.

  Jonathon falls into step with me. For a man who likes to be in command, he seems to be willing to follow me. I wonder why. Am I really worth all this time and trouble when he could be tying up Crystal right now?

  “Who are you really, Jonathon? How do you honestly feel? When you are here do you feel happy because you’re having inventive sex, or are you here for something else? When you use a whip, who are you really hitting?”

  He doesn’t say anything, but he takes a sharp breath. I suddenly realize I’ve struck a nerve. Then he says, “I would never do that to a sub who trusts me. The scene is about both her and me. I don’t exorcise personal demons here. That would be a betrayal of trust.”

  “I used to do stuff to attack someone who hurt me, someone who I can’t touch in any way,” I say softly. “Someone who doesn’t even care. Who I can never hurt.”

  “Who was that, Mia?”

  I wave his question away. “I learned the only thing that works is forgetting about them and falling in love.”

  He studies me for a long time. Couples walk past us, with leather and leashes and whips and chains, but he is not focusing on anything but me. “I was right about you,” he says, finally.

  I have no idea what that means. But I sense he is like me. He has stuff locked up inside him. Suddenly, I want to find out what has shaped Jonathon. I notice he’s not denying anything I said. If anything he looks like he is mulling over my words, really thinking about them…

  I wonder—could I actually change him?

  Don’t go there, a voice warns in my head. You can barely change yourself.

  He leads me to the bar, where I get a second diet coke and he orders one too.

  I feel an intense gaze on me from the other end of the bar. I glance up. Blond cropped hair, vivid blue eyes. My heart leaps until I realize this is not Ryan, of course. But he’s watching me over the rim of his tumbler and the liquid inside the glass is a golden-amber.

  “A friend,” Jonathon says.

  The man stands—he must be six-four—and he greets Jonathon with an extended hand and they share a brief masculine embrace. He’s wearing a beautiful suit. “How are you, Jonno?” the man asks. “Get in much sailing this summer? I went through the Caribbean and was almost hijacked by pirates.”

  Jonno? The nickname does not suit Jonathon. Jonathon is a three-syllable kind of guy.

  He introduces me. “Mia, this is Devlin Crane. Crane, this is Mia, my friend from Yardley.”

  “Enchanted to meet you, Mia.” Devlin lifts my fingers, kisses them, and says something that completely stuns me. “I’m the go-to guy when Jonno is putting together a threesome.”

  “Not this time.” Jonathon’s voice is terse. “Mia is a friend.”

  “Unfortunate.” Devlin’s eyes hold mine. They are almost the same sapphire blue of Ryan’s eyes. “I have an appointment in the theatre room in a few minutes, but would have happily postponed for you, Mia.” In a softer voice, one that wraps around me like strong arms, he murmurs, “I would have enjoyed a threesome with you. Jonathon and I regularly have ménages involving the beautiful woman either of us is dating. And you are the most gorgeous woman he’s dated yet.”

  I’m about to argue—Lara is far prettier than me. But Jonathon hadn’t brought her here.

  Crane bows to me and leaves.

  After I finish my soft drink, Jonathon says, “One more stop on the tour. Unless you want to leave.”

  The diet coke has given me a burst of energy. I check my watch. It’s now 2 a.m. Fortunately, tomorrow my first class is at 10:30. And since we have our major studio project due in two weeks, I expect more than half the class will be skipping it anyway.

  He puts his hand at the small of my back and leads me away. “Devlin wanted you,” he says softly by my ear.

  “Do you really share with him?” I try to say it casually, but it has rattled me. Jonathon has far more sexual experience than me. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it makes me feel nervous and edgy.

  He shrugs. “Most of the time.”

  We reach a black velvet curtain, which he pulls aside to reveal a set of stairs of granite, with open risers that are lit from below. Its disorienting and I have to hold the banister, though Jonathon’s strong hand on my back is reassuring. He leads me up to a corridor. There are more openings with curtains across them. “We’ll use my box,” Jonathon says.

  ***

  The box is indeed like a private viewing box in a sports arena. Each wall contains four boxes and rows of theatre-styl
e seats that overlook a large room. In the center of the room is a stage, which contains leather benches, an iron contraption like a medieval rack, and an oval bed.

  I sink onto the plush crimson velvet of the chair. Jonathon sits at my side. A panel of tinted glass rims the balcony, but I can easily see over it to the floor below.

  A woman is led into the room by the leash around her neck. Soft lights sparkle on the spikes and jewels in the collar. She has masses of dark curls, pinned up with a large jeweled clip. She is naked. Her body is slightly overweight, but that gives her generous curves. Crystal is the only woman I’ve seen here with a model thin body topped with huge breasts. Many of the other women are voluptuous and real. They are probably all in their twenties and thirties, though I do glimpse an older couple across the room in another balcony. The man has silver hair; the woman’s is white and drawn back in a sleek bun.

  Down on the stage, the man holding the leash is Devlin Crane. He has stripped out of his suit and he’s naked. Obviously proud of his body, he struts into the room.

  He has every right to be cocky.

  Instead of a six-pack, his abdomen is a perfect set of eight well-defined muscles. Crane is lean and muscular, with the strong, wiry body of a kick-boxer. A tattoo of a dragon runs down his right biceps, tail coiling lovingly around the bulge of muscle. He has Ryan’s broad shoulders and trim hips, with the same jutting hipbones that look so sexy. His butt is just as tight, his legs long. With his close cropped blond hair, he could be Ryan’s twin. Or at least his big brother.

  This is going to be agony, because every moment I’m going to be thinking of Ryan.

  Devlin’s cock is just like Ryan’s too, though a little thicker and longer. I can see why he strides with pride, his cock waving from side to side, since it’s straight, gorgeous and enormous. I’m the one blushing. I shouldn’t look, so I turn and look at Jonathon. He grins at my blush.

  “This is called the theatre room because we are going to watch while they perform?” I ask.

  Jonathon nods.

  “Isn’t that kind of—?”

  “Kinky?” he says.

  “I suppose that’s the point,” I say.

  Given the collar and leash, I steel myself to watch a scene in which Crane revels in his dominance over a submissive woman—something with bondage, whips, and thresholds of agony—so I’m surprised when he calmly sits on the edge of a black leather bench, and lifts his cock.

  I swallow hard. His fingers barely fit around the base of his shaft, which means his equipment is beyond huge. He still holds the leash and the chain glitters in the light as his partner climbs on him. She must be very excited because she takes his prick inside easily. Her head drops back and she moans with deep, intense pleasure as she sits down on him. He’s all the way inside her.

  “Wow,” I say.

  Jonathon was right. I am intrigued by this place. I’m aroused. I want to stay here. I ache to do wild things.

  But that’s not the person I’m supposed to be now. I’m supposed to be good.

  “I have to go,” I say as the leashed beauty begins to move up and down on Devlin Crane. Then she stops, and I see why. Two gorgeous young guys in leather come forward. She puts her arms over their shoulders and each guy supports one of her legs. A woman appears and applies nipple clamps to Crane’s partner. Thin chains run from those—chains that Crane holds in his hands. He tugs them from side to side and the girl’s moans are so intense they ripple right down to my pussy.

  “I really have to go.”

  Jonathon’s green eyes glow like lamps. He’s obviously horny. Yet he hasn’t touched me. He just says, very controlled, “Mia, exploring this side of yourself—”

  “I can’t. It would be cheating on Ryan. It would.” I’m close to tears. I’m so aroused I can’t stand it. A part of me wants to give in. A part of me wants to grab Jonathon and jump on him. But that’s selfish. I love Ryan, I really do. What I want is Ryan here, right now.

  “Would you play these games with what’s his name…Ryan?” Jonathon asks.

  Sometimes it is like he can read my mind. “Yes.” I say it instantly. “But that question is never going to come up.”

  “You don’t know that. As I said, he could be exactly like me.”

  “He’s not.” But my confidence in that statement is shaky. I don’t really know. Ryan could have secrets too. He could jerk off to a fantasy of tying me up and putting nipple clamps on me. Anything here could be his thing. He might not even know it yet.

  “When he and I have been together a long time, maybe I’ll ask.” I sigh. I don’t think I ever could. Or maybe I could pretend I read about it in Cosmo. “I suppose I should get a cab to the dorm.”

  “I will drive you home.”

  “But you didn’t get what you wanted, Jonathon. I assume you hoped I would get so aroused by the club that I would be willing to play?”

  “No, that wasn’t my intention. I wanted to introduce you to the world. I’ve spent a fascinating and enjoyable evening with you. That’s enough.”

  “I don’t believe that. How could it be enough?”

  ***

  On the way out of the club, I meet some of the regulars. They recognize Jonathon and look at me with interest, assuming I’m his partner. Jonathon has a quiet word with some of the women, then they speak with me. It’s a testament to his power that they reveal fairly personal things—they tell me whether they have ever known abuse in their lives or not.

  He is correct—not every member of his club is there because they have abuse issues in their pasts. Some do, and they are surprisingly candid. Without giving any details, I explain I know a little of what they’ve gone through. But maybe I don’t. I’ve known sexual abuse, but I was never physically abused. I feel there is a huge difference. I never lived in fear of pain or broken limbs. I don’t know how I would have survived that.

  Jonathon takes me home and walks me to the door of my room. I’m worried Lara will see us. Not that we’re doing anything wrong, but I don’t want her to think I’m the kind of roommate who would move in on an ex-boyfriend. I’m not.

  “Goodnight, Mia.” Jonathon lifts my hand to his lips, kisses it gently, and leaves.

  He never answered my question.

  Chapter Eight

  All the time I was in Jonathon’s club, I kept my phone turned off. When I step into my dorm room, I discover Lara is tucked in her bed, fast asleep. I lock our main door, slip into the bathroom, close the door so I can put on the light, and check messages.

  I don’t know why I’m so driven to do it since I don’t expect there will be any.

  But there is one from Ryan. My heart’s pounding as I read it. I feel guilty to have spent the evening with Jonathon, even though nothing happened.

  Ryan’s text reads: Mia, I’m worried about my dad. He got drunk and he’s been missing for two days. He’s not at the places he usually crashes. I need to go find him.

  Oh no. I quickly send back a message. I don’t know what can happen to Ryan if he ditches school. I assume it’s more intense for him—wouldn’t it be like going AWOL or disobeying orders? I type: Ryan, you can’t. You have school. Let me call my mom. She’ll help.

  All I can do is pray he didn’t already leave because he didn’t hear from me.

  I can’t call mom until morning. I can’t focus enough to do any work, and it is almost 4 a.m. anyway. I slip into bed quietly and lie there awake. Guilt grips me. I was checking out a kinky club while Ryan was going through a crisis. What kind of girlfriend does that? While I don’t have to tell him the truth, this isn’t about just not getting ‘caught’. I should have been there for him.

  Around five, I must fall asleep. I jolt upright in a panic at nine. Lara’s already gone, since she has a class at 9:30. Mine is an hour later but I don’t care if I get there. I call my mom. Today, she doesn’t work until the afternoon.

  When I hear her voice, my throat aches. I haven’t told her that things at Yardley are going badly. I want he
r to think this is working for me, that I’m being successful.

  “Mia, I’m so glad you called,” she says, cheerfully. “How are you?” Then her voice drops a little. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

  “Not with me. I’m fine. But I got a message from Ryan. He’s worried about his father.”

  Mom tells me that Ryan’s dad, Steven Taylor, had an accident. He was drunk and crashed his car into a tree. He didn’t hurt anyone and he got off lucky, with only minor cuts and bruises. Taylor was taken to the hospital for observation, then was released. But he was charged with a DUI.

  I let out a sob of despair.

  “Mia, it’s okay. Perhaps this is going to be a wake-up call for him.”

  “I doubt it.” My voice is shaky. It’s just going to be hell for Ryan.

  “Tell Ryan not to worry,” she says. “I will keep an eye on his father for him. I know Ryan’s father is seeing Lorelei Mason from the Snip ’n Style, and I know Lorelei. I’ll tell her to watch his drinking. If Ryan wants, I can take his phone number and I will call him right away about anything he needs to know. But I won’t bother his studies if it’s not necessary.”

  I love my mom. “Oh Mom, thanks. Thanks so much. I just don’t want Ryan to leave college to look after his father.” My temper flares and all the anxiety inside bursts out in a resentful rush, “Why does his father have to do this to him? All he has to do is keep out of trouble until Ryan gets finished. Does he want Ryan to fail? Does he want Ryan to have a dead end life like his? It’s not even like he doesn’t care about Ryan, it’s as if he’s deliberately trying to ruin his son’s life.” What is it about fathers? Why do some them try to actively screw up their kids’ lives?

  “Maybe he is afraid of losing Ryan,” my mother points out softly.

  “He is going to lose Ryan if he ruins Ryan’s life,” I counter bitterly. “How can he think Ryan will stick around if his dream is stolen away?”