by Jenika Snow
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2011 Jenika Snow
ISBN: 978-1-926950-54-9
Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston
Editor: Marie Buttineau
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For all of those who wish to be unnamed and experience the forbidden. Open up your senses and let yourself feel.
THE DIARY OF ANNA'S SUBMISSION
Jenika Snow
Copyright © 2011
April 27th
I don’t know why I'm even writing in this thing. I haven’t written in a diary since I was in middle school, jotting down my latest crush and the new gossip around school. I guess I just have so much going through my mind, so much that I keep bottled up, with no one to share it with, that I feel like I’m about to explode.
Yesterday was my twenty-first birthday and I spent it alone. I didn’t really care, though, not really. I went out and bought this diary, a little black suede book that came with a matching pen. It looked like something an adult would carry around to write down important notes about their day. Here I am writing about my problems and how I wish things could be different.
My days are the same, so repetitive that I feel like my life is one big re-run. I wake up, get ready, and go to school. I somehow thought college life would be different, somehow thought turning twenty-one would make me feel more…alive. How wrong I was. Maybe there's something wrong with me. These thoughts I have, ones that seem almost dirty and lascivious in nature consume me daily. I have never told anyone, never even spoken about what I want. Being tied up, submitting to a man so much stronger than me, letting him do whatever he wanted to my body. Those are the things I think of, the things that have me waking in the middle of the night so sweaty and aroused I can hardly stand it. These wants and needs—they all seem so bizarre and unnatural. I feel guilt and shame, but under all of that I feel a bright, red hot desire for the kind of things that go through my mind.
How can these desires I have make someone feel arousal? I feel like I should apologize for the way I feel. That I should explain why I have these feelings, explain why I become wet when I picture a man, a dominant, making me submit. I get so aroused to the point I have to force myself not to touch my throbbing pussy. I honestly can’t help these thoughts, these dark desires.
How many other women are out there, desiring to be controlled, aching to be forced to do whatever a man wanted sexually? These fantasies in my mind are so vivid that I can picture myself, spread under a male triple my size, his big body sweating and panting above me, his hands wherever he wants them. Just thinking about it now, just writing my thoughts down has my pussy so wet it soaks my panties.
I'm so disgusted with myself, so scared at how I feel, yet so titillated at the same time. I am grossly inexperienced, so naive when it comes to sex that I am embarrassed to even write it down. I am afraid that whenever I do end up having a relationship, a “normal” one that doesn’t involve my partner forcing his body on mine, shoveling his cock into me as I struggle, will fall so short of what I have anticipated. I think a large part of why I have stayed a virgin is because of that reason, that very fear.
My social life is threadbare and my love life is nonexistent. Honestly, on the latter, I have no one to blame but myself. Even when a guy does talk to me, I become so embarrassed, so flustered that I feel like a child. I stumble over my words to the extent that I see their thoughts of me clear on their expression. I can practically hear what they are thinking. What a poor, weird girl. Look at how silly she acts.
I could rip out my hair, scream, yell, anything to make myself feel something other than this endless repetitive existence. Maybe tomorrow will be different, but I highly doubt it.
April 28th
I went to the library today, nothing extraordinary to write about, but then again that isn’t why I'm making this entry. I blush, even now, just thinking about it. While I was in the World Lit section I felt like I was being watched, felt this strong sense that I wasn’t alone. I know how silly that sounds, given the fact I was in a public facility with people littered around me, but that inkling, that notion that there was someone there, watching my every move, taking in every little move I did was so pronounced I felt my skin tighten with awareness. As if that memory is ingrained in me, I can recount exactly what happened:
Feeling the back of my neck tingle, I glanced up and looked around. At first I didn’t see anything that would imply I was being watched, but then my gaze landed on his. The first thing that becomes apparent is how attractive he is. Not in a pretty, GQ kind of way, but in a rugged, purely masculine way. The second thing I notice is how big he is. When I say big, I mean he reminds me of a linebacker, hard muscle under a towering frame.
I don’t even know why I was looking at him so keenly, but I know, have this sensation, that this is how a man should look, so masculine you couldn't help but feel feminine when standing beside him. Of course he is across the library, but nonetheless, I can see him so clear. Glancing away, I don’t think I can stand his penetrating gaze any longer. Not able to keep my eyes downcast when I still feel him watching me, I lift my eyes toward him. My hair is a veil obscuring part of my features, and I hope my embarrassment as well. My face feels hot from it.
I quickly turned away, feeling my face heat with embarrassment due to where my thoughts had drifted as I stared at that beautiful stranger. Although I tried my hardest to not look up again, the feeling on the back of my neck, those hairs that stand on end when something is about to happen, intensified. So, against my better judgment, I lifted my head and looked in his direction once more. He was still there; book in hand, eyes on me.
I didn’t know eyes could be that shade of blue. They were so transparent that even from my distance they looked like cut sapphires. His cropped oblique colored hair was a startling contrast to those blue eyes. I shivered in awareness.
When he smiled, just a small tilt of his lips, I felt a chill race down my spine. I don’t know what it is about him that is causing such a reaction inside of me, but a sense of awareness has my knees buckling and my head pounding.
May 2nd
I find myself wandering back to the library, hoping I’ll see him again. I don’t even know him, had only seen him that one time, but his look, his smile made such an impact on me I feel like I am tumbling down a long tunnel. Maybe it was because he absolutely poured masculinity, maybe it was because I knew, next to him, I was but a fragile female. Maybe it was none of those things, or maybe it was all of them. Whatever it was, I felt like I was going insane.
I haven’t seen him since that one time, and each day that has passed has my disappointment increasing. I just know that I have never had such a strong sensation from one person, from one look, in my entire life. It scares me a little.
May 4th
I saw that man again today. I was sitting in the library, in the far, far corner where no one could see me. God, just thinking about it has me feeling mortified:
I had sat down, ready to read in privacy, in discretion, when I saw someone sit across from me in my peripheral. I glanced up and my heart stopped. He seemed to take up my entire view. His body was so big, so muscular that I felt a heat wave wash through me. H
e didn’t look up, just opened whatever book he had and started reading. Did he not see me? Did he not know I was the same girl he had smiled at just a few days prior? I was acting silly—it was ridiculous to think a man would remember an almost-encounter with a woman in a library. Still, I hoped he remembered me. I know I sure as hell remembered him.
I took that time, when he was engrossed in his reading, to really stare at him, examine him physically. I felt my face heat, knew I was probably as red as a stop sign, but I still couldn’t drag my eyes from him. His face was made up of sharp angles, a square jaw, a straight nose, and a dusting of stubble across his cheeks. His shoulders were wide, the muscles beneath the shirt he wore standing out in stark contrast. He sat with his arms framing the open book, his shirt sleeves rolled up to show his powerful forearms. I could see a hint of dark ink peeking out from beneath the shirt and the sight made me more aroused.
Shifting in my seat, I tried to tame the ache that had settled between my thighs. Here I was, acting like a freak, staring at a stranger and getting wet just from the sight of him. I flicked my gaze toward him again, took in his large hands and big fingers, imagining what it would feel like to have all that power holding me down, making me submit. Would those fingers feel rough on me? Would he shove them into my warm, wet body until I arched my back and begged him for mercy, for release?
As if he read my mind, he lifted his gaze from his book and pierced me with his stare. Those eyes, like cut sapphires, dark, haunting. After a suspended moment, he smiled, that same small tilt of his lips that had my nipples beading hard and my pussy clamping down tight. That one look had me on the verge of hyperventilating.
He didn’t speak, didn’t even blink as he held my gaze. Then he glanced down at what I was reading, and for that small second I could do nothing but stare at him in mortification. I knew what was right in front of me, knew what book I was looking at, but as if fear had a tight grip on me, I couldn’t close it, couldn’t place my hands on the pages and hide the words, the pictures.
This stranger didn’t even look shocked. I thought he would look at me as if I were a freak, a sick individual even, but he did nothing like that.. He did something far worse. He closed his book, his stare never leaving me, the smile gone, and then he stood and left. My heart beat a mile a minute, my cheeks so hot I knew they had to be cherry red. I looked down at the book, the pictures of the naked woman, bound and gagged, the look of fear, of arousal clear on her face.
I closed the book hard, the sound of the leather and paper snapping shut echoing off the high ceilings and drawing everyone’s attention my way. I stood, maybe too fast seeing as the chair slid across the tiled floor. If I didn’t get out of there, if I didn’t get some fresh, clean air into my lungs I would die. Everyone stared at me as I left, as I ran from how I felt, what I wanted. They might not have known what was wrong with me, but I did, and now he did too. That beautiful stranger that I had only seen once before knew my secret.
May 7th
I decided today that I would get away. Classes are done until the fall semester starts, and I know mentally I can’t handle summer classes right now. I just need a break, need to distance myself from everyone and everything.
I got this flyer in my mailbox today, one of those generic ones about student discounts. The one that caught my eye was for a rental at a cabin on the very outskirts of Hocking Hill. I'm not much of an outdoorsy type of girl, but I think the solitude and isolation might do me some good. Maybe I’ll be able to sort through my feelings and emotions, figure out what is going on inside of my mind and find peace.
I feel consumed by the thoughts and desires I have. Is it even normal to want a man so much bigger than you to hold you down, feel you roughly, and then take what he wants? I am sure I’m not the only one with these feelings, but still, I can’t help but feel disgusted with myself. Maybe I’ll be able to really sit down and write how I feel, what I want out of life, and want I hope for the future.
I went ahead and booked the cabin for the whole week. I don’t know, maybe it won’t help me at all, or maybe it will. I guess time will tell.
May 13th
Today is Friday and I just arrived at the cabin. I feel myself unraveling, but in a good way. The drive was over three hours, but I took that time and just let my mind wander. I didn’t turn the radio on, didn’t talk out loud, just let anything and everything filter through my mind.
The cabin is beautiful, large yet not imposing. There are twin pillars, the size of large oak trunks that support an impressive porch. The inside is just as beautiful as the outside. It is quite spacious, far bigger than I thought given the low fee I am paying for the week. There is a large bedroom, a kitchen, a small dining room and living room combined. Upstairs there are several other bedrooms along with an upper deck that looks out over the pristine forest that surrounds the cabin.
There is, however, a locked room in the house. From the outside there are no windows and it appears the room was an add-on because the wood looks newer, brighter. My curiosity was piqued at first, but I assume it to be some kind of storage room.
I went out on the deck today, just sat there and listened to the birds chirping and the sound of the ground dwelling animals scurrying below me. Although I like the feeling of being alone, of being out in the middle of nowhere, there was a small part of me that realized no one would know where to find me if I went missing. I hadn’t told anyone that I was going on this little retreat, hell, there wasn’t anyone to tell. I could easily get lost and never be found again.
The trip is wearing on me and I plan on venturing into the caves tomorrow. I want to take the whole day to just enjoy the wilderness, the silence, the isolation.
May 14th
It is about three in the morning and I swear I heard someone right outside of my bedroom window. It sounded like heavy, muted footfalls on the deck, circling the cabin, so close I swear I could hear him breathing. I stayed still, not daring to move, not daring to even breathe as I waited for the intruder to leave.
After what seemed like forever, the footfalls disappeared. When time passed and I felt my heart return to a more normal rhythm, I grabbed my diary and started writing. I feel comfort holding this little black book, telling it all my secrets, wants, needs, and fears.
What I am about to write is something I would never reveal to anyone, something that I could never tell anyone. When I laid here in muted silence, listening to those footsteps that seemed so intimately close, I thought about what it would be like if whoever was outside came in.
What would it feel like if that intruder held me prisoner, forced his bigger body on mine, ripped off my clothes and made me feel everything I had only ever fantasized about? I frighten myself with these feelings that I am on the verge of tears. How could I ever have a normal relationship if these kinds of things make me wet and needy?
I slept uneasily for a few more hours, but when six in the morning rolled around I was wide awake. I packed my bag and headed out. Now, I sit on one of the massive boulders under Ash cave. It is a beautiful structure, the spring snow already melted and casting its icy residue down to form this breathtaking waterfall. As I write this now, I shiver at how I felt just moments before, all alone in this vast wilderness:
As I hike higher, I know where I want to go, know what I want to see. I want to witness the rocky outcroppings high above me, actually run my fingers over their rough, textured bodies. Despite the cool spring breeze, sweat coats me like a second skin. Finally, I have reached the top and I swear I can touch the very clouds above me. There is this serene little outcropping at the base of this monstrous rock formation and I know this is where I want to go. It will be an ideal spot to eat the lunch I have packed. It is covered by the shadows of the rocks and away from the sun that seems to be beating down on me.
As I sit here, napkin in lap, sandwich in hand, I have this feeling that I am not alone. As if my very thoughts have triggered something, I hear twigs snapping. I can’t tell exactly which direction
it’s coming from, but I can tell it’s close. There is something inside of me that sparks with fear. It’s like this sixth sense, one that is so attuned to what is happening around me, warning me that what I am hearing, feeling, sensing is not to be ignored.
May 15th
My imagination truly is going to drive me crazy. Yesterday, when I heard the twigs snapping around me, I thought for sure someone was there with me. It turned out to be a buck, wandering around, not even aware I was there. When he did discover my presence, I was no more than ten feet from him. He stared at me, his eyes so big, so black, like he was trying to figure me out. I didn’t move, couldn’t even breathe for that matter. It was, after all, only a deer, but I felt the power of that wild animal inside of me, felt the wilderness and freedom it exuded, and actually felt like I was one with nature.
I know, re-reading what I wrote, how ridiculous that sounds, but it was quite an eye-opening experience, one I certainly wouldn’t have gotten in the city.
I have just finished dinner and am now sitting on the deck, the sounds of the night encroaching around me like a soothing symphony. I could stay here forever, wrapped in the protectiveness and safety the trees and this world provide. Maybe that sounds silly, but I know that I didn’t feel this way in the city, could never feel this…free, surrounded by all the lights, buildings, and people swarming around me.