Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “No issues.”

  “Good.” He did the same thing with my feet. Within minutes, I was bound and at his mercy.

  “I’m going to start by giving you a massage,” he said, taking a small bottle of scented oil and pouring a healthy amount on my back and buttocks.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “In the bathroom.”

  “I didn’t even know it was there.”

  “In the army, they taught us to be resourceful―notice our surroundings and make a mental list of objects at hand. It’s far better than wishing for something unattainable.”

  “Does that include people?”

  “Sometimes,” Trent said. I could tell by his voice that he was smiling. “Do you like to be massaged?” he asked, bearing down harder on my back. He was kneading my muscles, following the line of tendons and pushing at the knots with his thumbs.

  “I’ve never had one quite as good.”

  “I would have thought Cole was into Shiatsu.”

  “I usually massaged him.”

  “Didn’t he reciprocate?”

  “Not often, but hey, that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to. He was always on some tight schedule.”

  “Your continued loyalty is admirable,” Trent said. “It’s one of the things I find so attractive about you.”

  “You find me attractive?” I must have sounded dubious because he smacked me lightly on the ass.

  “Do you find that incomprehensible?”

  “I’m such a loser,” I said, falling back into my dark space.

  Trent straddled me and bent down to whisper in my ear. “I don’t want to hear you referring to yourself as a loser. Tell me about your first experience with cutting. What set you off?”

  I didn’t want to talk about cutting, but I knew it was the whole point to this scene. “I was barely fourteen and didn’t make the traveling baseball team I was trying to join. My younger brother did, and I was extremely disappointed. I was just starting puberty, and I was underweight and underdeveloped. Junior was covered with body hair while I was as smooth as a baby.”

  “Were you close in age?”

  “I was eighteen months older, but everyone thought he was my big brother. He was taller, wider, better at sports, and my father adored him.”

  “You resented that?”

  “There was the usual sibling rivalry, but things began to escalate as soon as we got into our teens. My feelings of inferiority had been climbing for months, and I remember that day. I was so hurt and angry, I began scratching at my thighs with my nails. Before I knew it, I was bleeding. The pain was intense, but it made me forget I’d been rejected.”

  “And soon you graduated into cutting?”

  Painful memories slammed into me, and I began to tremble. I was overcome with the old feelings of worthlessness. Would my life start to spiral now that I no longer had Cole to make me feel good about myself? The tremors were extending to my limbs, and even though I was bound, I knew that Trent would feel my skin jumping under his touch. And I was right. He immediately lay on me, blanketing my body with warmth. “I’m here, Sloan,” he said softly. “I’ve got you.”

  “Do you?” I closed my eyes and tried to derive some comfort from his words, but my body had long since programmed itself to need a certain type of pain to mask the other feelings, so I continued to shake.

  He sat up and reached for the ice bucket. Without warning, he began to rub my neck and back with ice. One would have thought that the cold would make the trembling increase, but it was a shock to my system and had the opposite effect. As Trent passed the ice cubes over my skin, I began to go numb. Little by little, the shaking was brought under control. I felt him reach for something else, but I was too focused on the cold to realize that he’d grabbed the blade. I smelled the alcohol a second before I felt the cotton ball making a frigid swath across my upper right shoulder. The first slice was shocking, and I gasped. “Don’t move,” Trent admonished. “Close your eyes and feel the hurt oozing out of you.”

  My mind blanked, and I focused on the sting. I imagined the ache in my heart seeping through the opening in my skin. Although I couldn’t see the blood, I knew it was there. The mental picture, along with the physical pain, was slowly purging me. Trent dabbed at my shoulder with the antiseptic before cutting me again, and twice more after that. His light touch hardly registered until the alcohol provided an extra boost of pain. The throbbing in my shoulder matched my pulsing cock. I didn’t understand what was going on. In the past, cutting had never led to any sexual feelings, but tonight the pain had transformed suddenly into an acute need to be possessed by the man who was wielding the blade with such expertise. His touch ignited something deeper inside of me, kindling a hunger that could only be satisfied by a hard cock.

  “Please….”

  “What do you need?”

  “You,” I sobbed.

  I couldn’t stop the tears even though his voice was reassuring.

  “I’m here for you,” he said, “right here, Sloan.”

  The words comforted me along with the warm breath against my neck. I began to relax little by little as I handed over my trust. The bleeding must have stopped, because he laid down the antiseptic and the saturated cotton. He picked up a small tube of slick, and the next thing I felt was the cool gel being spread around my asshole. He slipped in a couple of fingers, loosening the tight ring and causing me to shudder with anticipation. The invasive probing was stimulating me, sending signals directly to my cock which was filling rapidly, pulsing with need. In one swift move, Trent was deep inside of me. My immediate reaction was to buck and try to push him off, but seconds later, the euphoria surged through me as his rigid shaft stabbed my prostate, transporting me to some sublime place heretofore unknown. The pain of Cole’s rejection evaporated, and only the joy of the moment remained.

  “Fuck me, oh God, Trent….”

  “Sloan,” he growled, nipping at my earlobe.

  I shut everything out of my head, focusing on his deep voice and the overall feeling of safety. He snaked a hand around my waist, lifting me slightly, so he could wrap his warm fingers around my cock, which felt like it was ready to explode. His touch carried me to another level of serenity, one I’d never experienced before.

  “You’re a special man,” Trent said, reassuring me, a mantra of positive reinforcement. “You deserve the best.”

  “Don’t let me go,” I begged.

  “I’m here for as long as you need me, Sloan.”

  “Thank you,” I sighed, releasing my fears as my confidence in Trent climbed. He stepped up his movements, thrusting in and out while I moaned and tried to match him, shove for shove. I was hampered by the bindings that held me in place, but the loss of control was enhancing my pleasure. Letting him take charge, shifting my body any way he wanted, was a huge turn-on for both of us. He got off on the power, and I got off on the surrender.

  My surroundings faded out as I concentrated on the unprecedented passion that was cresting into a mind-blowing orgasm about to rip me apart. I braced myself with my elbows when Trent lifted me up to my knees. He gripped my hips so forcefully I could feel his nails digging into the skin, but it only added more to the moment. We were grunting and pushing against each other, and when he shifted, his hard cock grazed my prostate. I cried out loudly, coming all over the towel in a forceful spray. He crested seconds later, hanging onto me tightly as my muscles squeezed his cock in tight spasms. He poured into the latex reservoir, panting harshly while he pummeled into me. “Such a good boy,” he gasped, seconds before he bit my uncut shoulder unexpectedly. That extra pain made my climax much more powerful. I felt like a firecracker, bursting into a million tiny fragments and floating back down to earth.

  “Oh my God,” I whimpered, “Trent….”

  Trent continued to lie on my back, and he kissed me gently on my neck. “Thank you,” he said before pushing up and making short order of the knots. Soon he was rubbing my wrists and ankles. “Can you wigg
le your fingers and toes?”

  “I’m okay.” I felt completely loopy―like I’d smoked a fat joint or inhaled half a bottle of tequila. “I feel drunk.”

  “It’s subspace.”

  “No shit?”

  He gathered me up like a wet rag, boneless and pliant against the hard planes of his chest. “Enjoy it,” Trent said proudly, obviously pleased.

  “I could get used to this.”

  “So could I,” he admitted. “You’ve made me very happy.”

  “You?

  “By trusting me to lead you away from the pain, you’ve given me a huge gift.”

  “It wasn’t hard at all. Can I ask you something?”

  “Ask me anything you want.”

  “Have you ever cut anyone before?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re pretty good at what you do, aren’t you?” My tongue felt too big for my mouth, and my limbs were virtually useless. Subspace had zapped all my energy, and the lassitude made each movement incredibly difficult. Trent must have been aware of this phenomenon since he made no attempt to separate us. I felt unbelievably safe in his arms.

  “I try and make it work for both of us.”

  “You succeeded, but why didn’t it hurt or frighten me the way a flogging did? I couldn’t bear it when Max tied me up and whipped me.”

  “There are as many levels of pain as there are people and tools. What feels right for someone like Jason could be God-awful for you, just as I couldn’t tolerate being cut. Our minds process each situation differently due to our own experiences. We have diverse perceptions of what feels good and what doesn’t. You’re used to cutting as a coping mechanism. To you, it isn’t strictly pain, because it’s always self-inflicted and a pathway or means of escape from a bad situation; whereas a flogger, wielded by another person, is out and out torture. It’s as jarring as getting your finger burned on the oven door―a different level of hurt altogether.”

  What happens now, Trent?”

  “You tell me.”

  “There’s so much to learn about this lifestyle, and I’d like to explore it further.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said gently. “Are you ready to get on with your life?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Did you and Cole say everything that was necessary?”

  “His decisions over the last six months have been clouded by grief.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently, his father is terminally ill, and Cole is trying to provide him with an heir before he dies. His motives may have been pure, but his methodology was completely fucked. I can’t forgive him.”

  “It won’t be easy to let him go, Sloan.”

  “I know, but the trust I used to feel has been destroyed. I could never go back.”

  “That’s harsh, considering your long history. The word never is so finite.”

  “Why are you trying to get me to forgive him?”

  “I’m not. I don’t want you to have any regrets where Cole is concerned.”

  “I won’t. Maybe someday I’ll be able to be around him without wanting to knock his head off, but at the moment I can’t stand being in the same room with him.”

  “Shall we go on a holiday?”

  “Where?”

  “Putting on the kilt made me want to explore my Scottish roots. Why not do it now while we have the opportunity. We could rent a car and drive to Scotland.”

  “Wow… an entire nation of men in kilts. What could be more tempting?”

  Trent chuckled. “Yes, but I hope your attention will center on one particular man.”

  “Without a doubt,” I replied. I curled my fingers around Trent’s neck and drew him down for a long kiss. After we broke apart, I could feel his reluctance to let me go. It was an unspoken agreement, a lingering sense that I now belonged to this complex man I hardly knew. And rather than scare me, I was filled with hope. “I have a lot to do when I get back to New York,” I said, trying to keep the conversation on an even keel. I’d always been accused of being overly emotional, and for once I was trying to show some restraint. The reality was I wanted to tell Trent how much I was invested in our relationship, but I knew the timing wasn’t right. It would be premature on my part, so I said nothing.

  “What is so important back home?”

  “Moving out and separating my assets from Cole’s.”

  “Everything can wait, Sloan.”

  “Including you?”

  “My wait is over, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 32

  I FELL asleep without answering his question and awoke in the middle of the night thinking about Cole. Did he get home okay? He’d never traveled this far by himself, and I was sure there had been some harrowing moments when he probably regretted his decision to put himself in harm’s way. That he’d come after me willingly was a desperate act I only now appreciated. What must it be like to stand in a place like Heathrow Airport, feel the movements of hundreds of passengers around you, and not see anything? I couldn’t imagine it. Hopefully, the airline had given him all the assistance he needed to get home without mishap.

  Why was I even thinking about Cole when I was in bed with another man? Already I felt disloyal to Trent for worrying about Cole, which was stupid considering we had no shared history. I guess it was just a part of my genetic makeup. I was monogamous and didn’t have room in my heart for two. It was one or the other, and I’d chosen Trent over Cole―a shock to everyone, including me.

  I slid out of bed as quietly as possible, so I wouldn’t wake Trent. We had a long day ahead of us, and I didn’t want him sleep deprived any more than was necessary. He’d been so supportive earlier, guiding me through my crisis, and he deserved a few hours of undisturbed rest. I wondered what he’d be like now that high tension no longer factored into our every move. I really knew nothing about Trent other than what my body was telling me. And it was feeling damn good. Subspace was everything they said it would be and more. I was still floating from my experience. A guy could get used to this.

  I stood in front of the mirror after I’d taken a leak, trying to get a look at my shoulder. There were several fine lines that were so thin and perfectly drawn, they looked like tattoos. In the past, I’d practically mangled my flesh by cutting too deep. Trent was an artist with the blade, and I knew that these lines would be gone in a few days. Nobody would be the wiser. The memory of last night came rushing back, and I could feel my cock awakening slowly. The interesting thing was I’d never associated sex and cutting. Now it was at the forefront of my brain. What did that say about me?

  Maybe I was a pain slut. Max had thrown out the accusation when he first learned that I was a cutter, and I’d denied it vehemently. Nonetheless, here I stood, getting hard at the thought of being cut by Trent. Was it because he was the only one who’d been intuitive enough to know exactly what type of pain I needed? Or was it the perfect combination of his capable personality and my needs being met. Was it wrong? Should I check into a mental health clinic to get my brain flushed out with bleach? Did this make me sick or damaged? All along I had associated my behavior with mental instability, yet Trent was telling me there were hundreds in the BDSM world who routinely inflicted or received pain and were considered quite normal. Well, as normal as anyone in that lifestyle could be.

  I thought about Max. He was highly successful at his job and would never be called aberrant, but if one peeled off his layers and examined his quirks, one could come to the conclusion that he was sort of deviant. Yet people admired him without recommending psychiatry to “fix” him. So was this okay, then? Should I embrace my true nature and not keep fighting it?

  Trent walked in, seized me, and held me against his naked body. “Are you having buyer’s remorse?” he asked softly, nuzzling my neck.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Freaking out.”

  “A little bit.”

  “Over Cole, or the cutting?”

  “Both.” I
was surprised that I could talk about it, let alone admit that I was conflicted. It said a lot about my level of trust with Trent.

  “There is no instant cure for a breakup.”

  “I can’t help but worry about him… it’s years of programming.”

  “I would expect nothing less from you. Why don’t you call him to make sure he’s safe?”

  “I don’t want to hear his voice.”

  “If listening to him will affect you that much, then maybe you should get on a plane and go back home.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Trent lifted my face and looked into my eyes. They were a little blurry, I had to admit, but he kissed each eyelid shut and held me tight. “Don’t be sorry. I want you to be very comfortable with your decision, Sloan. I’d like you to stay with me and give us a chance, but I’m not heartless. I know how difficult this must be for you.”

  “I am comfortable, Trent. I don’t understand a lot of my feelings, especially what happened last night, but my decision to leave Cole feels right.”

  “You can always change your mind and go after him.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Then let it go. Remember what I said about guilt? It’s useless.”

  “It’s fucking inconvenient.”

  “Everything we do in life adds another interesting layer to our personality. You would be an extremely boring individual if you didn’t have life experience.”

  “Is that what we’re calling this?”

  “What else?”

  “I thought neurosis would be more appropriate.”

  “You’re not neurotic. You’re deeply emotional, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You keep thanking me, but you don’t seem to understand that I’m benefiting as well.”

  “Are you?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t. Come back to bed.”