With one question on a BDSM message board, Jade Thomas sparked something inside of me that had never been lit up before.

Our discussion of my world as we talked online woke things up in me I had no idea were lying dormant. My dominate side was calling out to me to take her and make her into what I knew she could be. But she was young, afraid, and had a fragility about her that was daunting.

In no time at all, she had me wanting to get her obstinate ass into my hands. Mold her, shape her into the submissive I wanted her to be. Capture her spirit using sex and pain.

What happened blindsided me, and changed me forever…

Pierce Langford answered a question I’d left on the BDSM message board for a club called ‘The Dungeon of Decorum.’

No matter how hard I tried to keep it all above board, he was determined to reel me into his dark world. A place I was curious about but also afraid of.

Like a persistent hunter, Pierce never let up on me, keeping the pressure up to get what he wanted. Me, as his submissive.

My body was on fire for the man from the get go. I yearned to feel his actual touch on my flesh. Flesh, he wanted to torment. Pierce Langford wanted to show me his world and all that goes with that. Pain, pleasure, and there would be no room for love.

Part One

Jade

Romance has been in my blood since I was only a girl of sixteen. An avid reader of anything in the romance genre, I’m especially keen on the darker side of the romantic spectrum. The side where pain and pleasure meet in an ebbing and flowing stream of both calm and frantic nuances. A place where sin and evil meet with good and innocence, leaving their residue on each.

My curiosities have come all the way to the surface, and they won’t allow me to shove them down any longer. I sit at my computer, searching the vast internet to find someone who will help me. I need help to understand the reality that is BDSM, something that won’t leave my mind.

The books I’ve read are great, enjoyable, and pleasing. But I think they’re purely fictional with little to do with the reality of that lifestyle. And I want to know more about it all; the why’s, where’s, and how’s of the whole thing. Why do people do it? Where do they find others, who want the same things they do? How do they take society’s sideways glares that lets them know, everyone knows what they’re doing, and most think it’s disgusting?

What immoral behavior is, has been adjusted since the days of old. Back in the times when women wore nightgowns that covered them from their necks to their feet, and men were covered too. Small slits were made in the front for sexual activity. An activity that was not for pleasure but for procreation and procreation alone.

Masturbation, if one was caught doing such a horrible thing, was more than merely frowned upon. One was punished and harshly at that. Nowadays when one is punished, per their requests mind you, they’re deemed immoral. It’s a common belief that if one practices BDSM or any variety of that, then the person must’ve had a bad upbringing or something terrible happened to them. Most people think something sexually abusive occurred.

I have to admit that I have favored that mindset. Recently, for reasons I cannot explain, I’ve had other thoughts about the people who practice the lifestyle. I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to dole out punishment or receive it, as an adult. But deep in the recesses of my heart, I long to understand. The core belief resides in me that not all who seek out this type of attention have been broken in one way or another.

Being an erotic author is my dream, my passion. I simply love to go away in my head to worlds where anything is possible. Worlds where an ordinary woman can meet up with an abnormally handsome, viral, and of course, heavily muscled man. And he would be filthy rich and just plain filthy in the bedroom, or any room really.

The world of erotic romance is where I dwell so often in my mind. Damsels in distress are no longer acceptable heroines. No, today’s heroines are smart, sharp as a tack in the wit department, strong in all ways, and take-no-shit kind of broads. The majority of these fictional women aren’t looking for love, they seem to stumble upon it. And with that little stumble, they find themselves in the arms of a man.

Not any man will do in today’s erotic romances. He must be alpha, clean to his core. In many of these novels, for some reason, our hero loves to hit women. And they love to be hit by him. And that is where my writer’s brain has found a dilemma.

I can see falling for a big, strong, handsome man. Who can’t?

But falling for one who wants to tie you up and beat your ass while you cook his dinner and iron his clothes, well, I can’t see it at all. BDSM makes no sense to me, and I’m striving to make sense of it. For my career!

I was a writer before I was anything else. I told stories before I could read. I looked at scenes and made up why things were going as they were. Making up stories has always been like second nature to me.

Being only one year away from graduating with a Master’s Degree in Creative Arts at Bangor University in North Wales, United Kingdom, I’m dangerously close to the part of life where I will need to make my own living in this world. Soon to be cut off from my father’s dime, I have to focus, and that means I must have some belief in what I’m writing about. Or I will never see my dreams come true.

My dreams aren’t huge. See my name on the cover of books. Oh! And best sellers’ lists as well, of course. I don’t want to be a mediocre writer. I want to be one of those authors who goes the distance to get to the meat of the story. Somewhat like a reporter, only I want to get creative with my truths. Make my characters, and the world they live in, seem realistic while having fantasy-like lives.

And there is little to no reality in normal women finding men with voracious sexual appetites and a penchant for beating them. So, here I am, searching the internet, hoping no one ever looks at my browser’s history and thinks I’m a woman of ill repute. I am far from that.

At the ripe old age of twenty-three, I haven’t found Mr. Right. And by that, I mean my cherry is still intact. I’m not a prude, though one might think that. I’m just very into my own head a lot of the time. A writer’s thing, my professors, tell me. I’ve been told I’m normal, for a writer.

Socially, I am a bit inept. Sure, I talk with ease to others, part of my reporter’s instinct, I suppose. But I share little about myself, preferring to steer people in directions that allow me to learn more about them, rather than talking about myself.

With a click of my mouse, an awkward picture fills my computer screen. A woman, deep throating an enormous penis!

Hurrying to get the picture off my screen, I notice the small writing at the bottom of the page. It’s about some auction that’s about to come up. Only after seeing that, do I notice the link I clicked on that took me to this sexual place is that of a BDSM club in Portland, Oregon in the States.

Several clicks later, I find out this place is a haven for those types of people, and there are many clubs in that city. It’s the number one city in America to find things of this nature. And it seems like the perfect place to begin my search for people who might be helpful enough to be truthful with me and offer me more insight into the dark world that’s shrouded in mystery.

Another click sends me to a picture of a naughty young woman, wearing leather clothing and holding her hand to her mouth as she looks surprised. I suppose she never saw the man coming, who’s behind her. Hard to believe, as he has a whip in his hand, and it’s aimed for her round and firm ass. Somehow, he’s surprised her with what he’s about to do.

No fear is in her eyes. No tears from pain. Only a surprised look covers her pretty face. The man wears a firm expression on his ruggedly handsome facade. I can hear him now, in my mind, ‘Gertie, you have this coming to you. You forgot the salt in my soup again.’

I giggle to myself as that was an actual line in one of the novels I read, recently. Even then I thought it was silly and dimwitted. If a man told me I was about to get whipped with an actual whip because of something so small and easily fixed with the jiggle of a salt shaker, I’d most likely laugh and walk away. He would obviously be an idiot and not worth my attention or time.

My mind is too strong, and so is my will to ever be involved in any of that stuff. But it’s such a fantasy of many women that it bears investigating. My first novel in the erotic realm should have more than a grain of truth to it. I want some real grit mixing in with the fairy tale of a story I will create. None of that phony crap!

I wonder if I can find a real Dom or Master to ask questions to. I wonder if any of them would even want to take time away from whipping asses to talk to a lowly, vanilla virgin about things she knows little to nothing about.

Doubt clouds my vision as I sit back and gaze at the next thing that’s popped up on my screen. A couple of women, clad in nothing but black panties, stand with their backs to a whip-wielding man who wears a black mask and looks like he’s about to bring down the rain on them both.

“Run, you morons,” I say, out loud as I notice an open door, to their right.

Is it humanly possible to stand still and take the pain of a whip when you’re steps away from escape?

Is it possible that, in some people, the need to feel pain is overwhelming? Like a drug addict who hates the after effects of a certain drug but can’t stop taking it.

The sharp eyes of the women as they look over their shoulders while holding hands, waiting for the whip to meet one of their bodies, haunts me. How can they be so bright eyed with pain on the way?

If I see a hot burner on the stove, I don’t touch it. If I saw a man running wildly down the street with his belt in his hand, striking out at people, I’d hide. So why do some seek this out?

And what chance do I have of finding even one of the people who practice BDSM that would be willing to help me understand them? And why would they want to?

I’m offering no compensation for their time. I’m offering nothing. I merely want to satisfy my own curiosity, nothing more than that. I want to use what I’m given to make money as a matter of fact.

No, it’s doubtful that I will be able to find anyone in the BDSM scene to answer my questions. Perhaps I should end this silliness. Maybe I should put this idea to rest and focus on Romantic Comedy, instead. That would be so much easier, wouldn’t it?

Pierce

Her ass sways as she leaves the room, strands of leather cover it, and red marks cover the places the straps don’t. After an hour of cuddling, my bottom, Tasha, for the evening, she feels safe enough to leave my company in the private room I rented at The Dungeon of Decorum. She wanted no sex, only punishment. And I gave her what she asked for, like any good Dom would.

Relaxing on the small bed in the room made for torturing the flesh of submissives, also known in the BDSM world as bottoms, I can’t help but recall the first time I came here. It was a mere three years ago, yet it feels like a century.

Bogged down in business, I was burning out fast. Being the new CEO of Waterson Mutual, a business finance company in Portland, Oregon, I was trying to prove my worth to the board. Busting my ass far more than I needed to. And it was catching up to me.

Grant Jamison became my friend and eventual hero. Older than me by five years, he took me under his wing and taught me that work is great, but one should always leave time for play.

Grant’s idea of play was very different from what my idea was. I thought he was suggesting playing racquetball with him and the friends he talked about. What he brought me into was far more serious than a ballgame.

In the matter of one month, I was inducted into the brotherhood of the Dominants at a local BDSM club, aptly named The Dungeon of Decorum. A place I visit often.

Being a Dom came naturally to me. As if I was born to lead, teach, and rule women. At thirty- five, I’ve been told I should be settling down, finding a woman to marry. I’ve been told I can keep my dark hobby a secret. Lead a normal life in every other way, but that sounds boring to me.

Being a part of the club I belong to means I can’t divulge any information about myself or any other members. We’re an eclectic group of men who happen to all be wealthy. With that in common, we all have to hide our secret lives. After all, who would want a mayor, a banker, or a statesman who’s into such dark things?

I was astonished by the faces I saw upon visiting the club for the first time. Men from all over the U.S. come to the club. Auctions are especially busy as not only men come from everywhere but so do the women who are auctioned off.

Personally, I’ve never bought a woman. I’ve never had an ongoing thing with any of the subs. I prefer one time scenes, I follow up with the women I’ve played with, for about a weeks’ time, then it’s on to other things. Things like other women with other needs, fetishes, and desires.

Studying techniques extensively has earned me the reputation for being one of the best Doms if one is looking for an excellent experience in bondage. My kinks are bondage, suspension, cupping, impact play, and power exchange. All of which I am particularly good at.

More than once, I’ve been called, driven. In business, in bed, and in my personal kinks. If it interests me, I dive into it head first and don’t come up until I’m saturated in knowledge.

I’ve had three serious relationships in my life. Two of them ended because of my incessant drive. Janet, in college, said I was too into my studies and not enough into her. So, she dumped me.

Leah, my second girl, lived with me when I first started working in the finance world. I had to devote most of my time to work. I wanted to move up quickly. After a year, she called it quits too. Another woman who told me I didn’t spend enough time with her.

Tracy was a gold digger who lured me into what she thought might be a trap. It was the first year I broke the billion-dollar mark on my yearly income. The daughter of a grocery store janitor, Tracy wanted more out of life. I asked her to move into my spanking new mansion with me. I showered her with gifts and tried my best to make time for her.

Tracy was one beautiful woman. Long blonde hair with golden streaks hung to her tiny waist. Bright blue eyes spoke to my heart, telling me I’d found an angel. But she turned out to be a demon instead.

Not wanting to get into having a family at that time, I was an avid condom user. When she came to me with a pregnancy test stick that had a couple of lines in it, she told me she was pregnant. With my child!

I’m no idiot, I know condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective, but she also told me she was taking a birth control shot too. Anyone can imagine how I felt. Shocked as well as disbelieving.

Tracy was furious when I took her to a doctor and stayed with her as she took the pregnancy test at the physician’s office. It came back negative, and I knew then, and there the woman was trying to force me into marriage. I had no choice, I dumped her.

And after her, I’ve had no want to deal with women for an extended period of time again. I’m not broken, I’m just too busy to want to deal with all that comes with a relationship.

At the club, I can find women who want whatever I do at the time. Anything from letting out aggression to cuddling and fulfilling that need. And not one of the women I’ve been with, since joining the club, have asked anything more from me than I am willing to give. It’s a relief is what it is.

No games are played. In our world, we communicate far more than in the normal world. The world with innuendos, cat and mouse shenanigans, and downright lies to get into relationships that are racked with turmoil.

Women have been taught things by society that go against nature. I never realized that until I found the BDSM world. Things like fighting hard to be above men, a thing that’s insane, has been shoved into their minds.

Women and men are different. We were put here to serve different purposes. There isn’t one of us who is better than the other. And one cannot exist without the other. Society has interfered with the natural order of things. And I, for one, am tired of dealing with women who fight nature.

A sense of calmness took me over soon after beginning this lifestyle. No arguing, no manipulations, no flirting to get into a woman’s panties. That shit is history. In the club, I can go up to any woman I’d like to, as long as she doesn’t belong to a man who prefers her to be with only him, and I can be frank with her. I can tell her what I’d like to do with and to her and she’s free to accept it or not.

If she’s into it, then we discuss every last detail about what we want to exchange with one another and plan out our scene. The planning is like foreplay. One gets hot and horny while discussing the details. Keeping our hands to ourselves can be hard as we describe what we want. But I prefer to hold back any physical connection until we get into our scene. It builds anticipation and makes for a better session.

A wrap on the darkly stained, oak door to the private room takes me out of my thoughts. “Come in.”

Grant pushes the door open, he’s got his arm around a tall, lithe brunette with tons of makeup on. “Hey, Pierce, this one here wants someone to watch us. You game?”

I slide off the bed and pull on my black lounge pants. “Sure. Am I a loud member of the audience or a quiet creeper?”

“Loud,” she tells me as I make my way to them. She strokes my cheek as she peers into my eyes. “My, you are a looker. And that body, mmmm.”

Taking her hand away from my face, as I don’t allow touch until we’re in the act, I let her know, “If you like what you see, we can talk sometime soon about what you need, baby.”

“I need you,” she whispers, making my groin thump.

“We’ll see how well you take what my friend dishes out before you and I talk about what it is you need.” I step to one side and allow Grant to lead the party to where ever he has planned.

Grant winks at me. “Perhaps you could show me your flogging technique on her if she’s alright with that. I’ve heard you’ve developed it and it’s better than most Dom’s.”

The way the woman, wearing only a thin, white, silk robe, looks over her shoulder at me tells me she’d like that. “Sure, I can show you.”

“I cannot wait,” she purrs.

A growl fills my throat as I think about how she’s about to feel. “Baby, we’re about to take you to the Amber Zone.”

Jade

The night was long, I tossed and turned most of it. Dreams of whips and chains filled the hours. Along with men in dark shadows who called out for me to stop running.

Getting out of bed, I rub the sleep from my eyes and make my way to the shower. My flat is small and I’m tired of looking at the same walls each day. Summer is nearly here and I want to go on holiday somewhere. Get out of my country for a couple of months and see some other place.

The water’s hot, making steam fill the tiny water closet. Steeping into the standup shower, my body jerks as the heated water hits it. “Ow!” I turn down the heat and make the water’s temperature more compatible with my skin.

Memories of the dreams which plagued me bounce around in my head. In them I was different. Unafraid yet not allowing myself to be drawn in by the husky, deep voices of the men.

The plum shampoo smells great and helps to wake me up. After a shot of something with caffeine in it, I should be good to go. It’s the weekend, and I have nothing to do but study for my finals. One more week of school then I’ll be free.

I’m not one of those creatures who freaks out over finals. I know my stuff as I pay attention in class and have an honest interest in the subject matter. That always helps.

Turning off the water, I step out and towel off, throwing on a fluffy pink robe, I wrap the towel around my hair in a turban-like fashion and make my way back into my bedroom. A set of sweats will do for my day of studying and chilling out.

After getting dressed, I stroll out to the kitchen to make some coffee and pop a bagel into the toaster. Taking the cream cheese out of the fridge, I notice my laptop computer, sitting on the kitchen counter where I left it last night.

Before I went to bed, I told myself that I’d forget about trying to find anyone to answer my BDSM questions. The idea that anyone would waste his time with me settled into my head.

The dreams have sparked my insatiable curiosity once again and I find myself drawn to the silver laptop. I open it and turn it on. It buzzes and whirrs as it comes to life.

My attention is taken away from the device as the toaster pops up my bagel and I set about pouring a cup of coffee and getting my little breakfast ready to eat. Sitting at the table, I take my first bite and look at my laptop again. “Oh, what the hell.” I get up and grab it, placing it on the tabletop and typing in the search engine I like to use when doing research.

Tapping in a simple, ‘BDSM society’ I sit back and let the engine find something for me to read while I eat one-half of my bagel and sip the stout black coffee. A directory of sites comes up on the screen, and I tap the first one. A list appears at the top of the page. The title explains it’s things used to play with. The first item is a Spreader bar. The picture looks innocuous enough. But the description says the bar can be made of metal or wood and its used to keep the submissive spread open. It can be utilized on either the wrists or the ankles, and it can even be hung from the ceiling. “Oh, my!”

Why on Earth would anyone willingly be held in that position?

Oh, well, on to the next thing. Which are Medical restraints. A set of four small leather belts is used to hold a person to the bed. I have to ask myself if it’s all so great, why does one have to be bound to the bed?

Next, I see something called a Monoglove. The poor girl has her arms behind her back and wrapped with one leather glove-like thing. She’s helpless to move her arms. Again, I must ask myself, why?

Not only does it look constricting and uncomfortable, it seems silly to me. Does the Dom need to keep his sub’s hands away from him or something?

Moving on, I find a Muzzle gag, a Penis gag, and a Ring gag and they all look more than a bit uncomfortable. I’m left wondering if I would actually choke if the penis gag was put into my mouth and strapped there. I definitely think I would!

A medieval looking device is next. It’s used to hold a person’s nose, pulling it backward so their head is pulled back and their mouth opens. It’s called a Nose hook, and I really have no idea why it would be considered a sexual device. It looks like a thing one would use to get a child to accept medicine when they fight about taking it. “Oh! I get it now!” A blush heats my cheeks as I think about being forced to open my mouth and having a man’s cock placed into it.

If I were a man, though. I’d still not trust the object to stop his submissive from clamping down on his dick. And if she has to forced to accept it, then why’s she there in the first place?

I just keep finding more questions to ask!

Plastic wrap is next on the list and I see that it’s used to wrap up the sub like a mummy. How inexpensive that is and how odd that anyone thought of that. I can hear the odd couple now, ‘Honey, can you get the plastic wrap from the kitchen? I think I’ll wrap it around you tonight so I can have my way with you.’

And the daft woman would run off to fetch the item without a thought in her empty head. No, I just don’t get it at all!

Something called a Posture collar is next on this insane list. It’s just like the white collars one wears when they have a neck injury. Perhaps it’s used to aid in the protection of the neck when being beaten like an animal. The woman who has it on looks equally as uncomfortable as any person I’ve seen wearing one because they had to.

So, I am left with more questions than I previously had and my curiosity is banging on my brain to get the answers it requires. But I close the laptop and try to focus on what I really need to be doing, and that’s studying for my finals.

The chair I’m sitting in is made of wood and not comfortable in the least, with its rigid back. Studying goes out the window as I close my eyes, and imagine being strapped to the chair with leather medical restraints. A wide Posture collar wrapped around my neck makes me sit up straight. A Spreader bar holds my legs open, and a Monoglove pins my arms behind my back. Even the fantasy is constricting and awkward. I open my eyes and laugh as I think about letting anyone do such things to me.

And those things aren’t anywhere nearly as horrible as the whips and chains. And my mind is right back where it’s been for the past several months. Bondage, brutality, and why anyone would allow that to happen to them? And what type of beasts want to do that to someone?

In the romance novels, women easily fall in love with their tormentors. Why?

If a man did even half of the things to me that I’ve read about, I think I’d kill him in his sleep and not have an ounce of guilt over it. To fall in love with such a beastly person is a thing I cannot imagine.

With the first sting of the whip, I’d vow to kill the motherfucker. I’m sure I would. A Dom would have to use a muzzle or gag on me, as I’d threaten his very existence as he tortured me. And when he set me free, which he’d have to do, eventually, well, he’d be the one running scared, of that I am certain.

Perhaps I’d be better suited as the dominator. But then again, I could never bring myself to hit a person. Hurting someone’s feelings is a thing I hate. Actually hurting someone, physically isn’t a thing I could do or condone.

So, how am I to talk to a person who actively does these things without judging them?

If I ask a question such as, ‘How does it make you feel to hit a woman?’ and get their truthful answer, then what will I do?

If a man were to tell me that he gets joy out of hitting a woman, then I’d detest him. A man who binds a woman then hits her and takes her sexually, well, he’d be a person I couldn’t stand.

So, what the hell am I doing? Why am I thinking about trying to talk to someone who I think is evil? What the hell is wrong with me? And what would my family think of me for even contemplating this?

Sitting back, I try to rationalize my thoughts. Like a reporter, I don’t have to agree with anything when I’m trying to get information. I can ask questions, get my answers and move on from the monster.

It’s not as if I’m going to ask some Dom to take me on and show me what happens in their dark world. I’d never do that!

My hand moves to the laptop and pulls it open. It’s like my will has taken over as I type, ‘BDSM Clubs’ into the search engine. My fingers hesitate as I see the first link to a club with an actual website. ‘The Dungeon of Decorum’ is what it’s called and I click it.

Looking over the page that opens, I find a message board and type in ‘Is there anyone in this club who’d like to help me learn more about the real world of BDSM?’

Now to see if anyone wants to respond…

Pierce

Birds chirp, waking me from a deep sleep. Blinking my eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight that’s pouring through my pale green, sheer curtained window, I stretch and yawn with the onset of the weekend. With no plans made, I think I’ll make myself a healthy breakfast of oatmeal and wheat toast then head to the gym. Maybe, I’ll just let the day take me where ever it wants to.

Moving to the bathroom, I turn on the shower, letting the steamy water heat the cold tiles. Multiple jets shoot the water out, hitting almost the entire surface of the tiled walls. Padding over to the sink, I brush my teeth, floss then rinse with mouthwash.

Into the shower I go, pouring an expensive shampoo I found online last week into my palm. It smells like leather and sandalwood, making me feel exceptionally masculine. In no time at all, I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and dry off then dress in casual clothing. Jeans, a T-shirt, and running shoes will suffice.

Heading downstairs, to the kitchen, I find the fridge well-stocked. Edith, my house manager, has made sure I’m ready to cook for myself through the weekend like I always do. I give the staff every weekend off. I prefer to be alone in my home when I’m off. They come in after I leave for work each weekday and are gone before I come home.

During the week, I take my meals in town. Most of the time, I get home around eight and usually hit the hay pretty early. I’m a faithful subscriber to the idea, early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. So far, it’s worked wonders for me!

After making my breakfast, I take it to the table and open up my laptop to see what’s going on around Portland this weekend. As always, I check the club’s website first to see if any of the subs have posted anything I might be interested in.

The name Jade Thomas is the first thing I see as I scan the message board. I’ve never seen that name on here before. And she’s asked a question. ‘Is there anyone in this club who’d like to help me learn more about the real world of BDSM?’’

“Jade Thomas,” I say, out loud. “And what does this young lady want to know, I wonder?”

Without hesitation, I ask my own question, ‘What do you want to know more about our world for?’

I begin to eat my oatmeal as I wait to see if she’ll answer me. It takes no time before I see her response, ‘Just curious. And is your real name, Dr. Power?’

Laughing, I type back, ‘No, we don’t use our real names on this site. But I bet you did, Jade Thomas.’

Eating my toast, I watch the screen, eager to see her reply. ‘That is my real name. What’s your real name? You see, I’m looking for a person who will be honest with me about the goings on in the BDSM scene. If you can’t be honest enough to tell me your name, then I shouldn’t waste any more of your time.’

Thinking about the fact she might be wasting my time, I ask, ‘Where are you from, Jade?’

She’s quick to answer, ‘The United Kingdom. If you’re worried about me outing you to society or something like that, you needn’t worry.’

“A Brit,” I say to myself. She’s far enough away, I doubt her knowing my real name would hurt a thing. I type in, ‘Pierce Langford.’

‘Thank you, Pierce Langford. First, I’d like to tell you that I’m majoring in Creative Writing at a University in North Wales. My goal is to become a romance author. I’d like to specialize in the erotic genre. But I need some information about certain topics. Topics like the BDSM scene. I don’t fully understand it. Oh, who am I kidding, I don’t understand it all. Are you by chance, a Dom?’

‘I am. Why, you looking for one?’ I type in.

‘Purely to ask questions to, nothing more than that. Are you up to answering some questions for me, Sir?’

Her use of the term, sir lets me know she’s a respectful woman. But I should find out how old she is before I give her such information. ‘Before I divulge information that might warp a young mind, I need to know your age and your sexual experience, Jade.’

‘Thoughtful of you, sir. My age is 23, and my sexual experience is limited to masturbation. I am a virgin.’

“Holy fuck!”

My mouth’s watering with the thought that she’s a virgin. I wonder what she looks like!

‘Cool, not a problem. As long as you’re of age and have an inkling about what kinds of answers you’ll be getting from me, I’m good with answering your questions. So, shoot me one.’

An entire minute goes by before anything appears. ‘Is there a private area we can do this, sir?’

I think about it for a moment then decide to give her my personal touch. ‘Do you have a Skype account?’

‘I do. I prefer not to video conference if you don’t mine.’

“Hmm, must be an ugly duckling. That’s most likely why she’s still a virgin.” I type in, ‘Not to worry, I won’t try to video chat with you. My number is 999-987-0099. I’ll be waiting for your message, Jade.’

In no time at all, she’s messaged me, and a little ding comes from my phone. I pull it up on my computer to make typing easier and find even her profile picture on the site is nothing but a red rose. I find it funny as my picture is a black rose with thorns on it.

‘Hi, Pierce. Do you mind if I call you that? I don’t want to establish a submissive relationship with you and just realized that by calling you sir I am doing just that.’

I chuckle as I write back, ‘You may call me that. So, what’s your first question?’

Much too quickly she sends back, ‘Do you like to hit women?’

Not happy with the question, I fire back, ‘If this is some hater who wishes to berate me for what I am and enjoy doing then you can go to hell!’

Another quick response comes from her, ‘No! Sorry. Please don’t take any of my questions in an offensive manner. None of them are meant to offend you. All are meant merely to learn about this lifestyle. Nothing more than that. I simply want to know if you took up this practice because you had a fetish about hitting people, women in general.’

Letting my anger subside, I give it a minute to settle. She’s just curious. I have to remember she’s also young and naïve as well. ‘This is not a thing I started because of a need to hit anyone. I was having difficulty at work. I needed an outlet. I was introduced to this world. I joined this club and found that submissives wanted certain things done to them. I took classes and learned how to give them what they asked for. And I became good at it. You see, some people like pain, Jade. Some people crave it. I administer the thing they feel they need. I do it with them in mind. Not for myself.’

Three minutes tick by before she sends me another question, ‘Do you have an exclusive relationship with your sub?’

‘I don’t. I never have.’

‘Do you have a commitment phobia? Or anything in your past that caused you to enjoy this lifestyle?’

Weighing the question so I can answer truthfully, I finally type, ‘Perhaps I do have a commitment issue. I wouldn’t call it a phobia. And nothing is in my past that’s messed up my mind, contrary to what a lot of people think about us.’

‘How old are you?’ she asks.

’35.’

Again, some time goes by before she writes anything else. Then the words appear on the screen, ‘I’d like to be clear on what type of Dom I’m talking to. Are you a heterosexual, Pierce?’

‘I am. Are you?’

‘Yes. I only ask as I want to write M/F romances and spending time talking to a man who likes men would do me no good. Do Doms only dole out punishments? And if not, have you received any?’

‘One can play both ends of the spectrum if they want to. There are no rules stating that once a sub always a sub or once a Dom always a Dom. When I was in training, I was hit by my trainer. That way I would know what it felt like to be hit with the items I was taught to use. But no sub has ever hit me. Nor do I plan on that ever happening. I rule.’

The pause she takes is so long, I begin to wonder if she’s decided to stop our interview. Then I see her next question, ‘Are you the type who wants to rule everything? And if so, why do you not have an exclusive sub?’

Her question has me pondering it. Do I want to rule everything? I have no idea. I’ve never done that. The two live-in girlfriends I had certainly needed a firmer hand than I had back then. If I found a woman that I wanted to keep around, I think I’d like to make the rules. With my answer, I type, ‘Your question is a first for me. And I looked deep inside myself and found I would like to rule if I ever found a sub I wanted to keep with me for any length of time. I prefer things certain ways and would train a sub to do things the way I like them done.’

‘Do you feel women are inferior?’ Her question nearly knocks the wind out of my sails.

Quickly, I reply, ‘Not at all. You see, most of us in the BDSM world don’t think on those terms. Women and men have their roles to play in life. With the rise of women’s liberation, women have lost more than they’ve gained. Once upon a time, women were the esteemed nurturers of the family. The keepers of the children, the homes, and their husbands. They made sure all things on the home front were taken care of well and were proud of their job. Men went to work and provided money and security. Not only in the financial form but also in the protection department. They made and upheld the rules and used different forms of discipline to enforce them.’

I give pause to allow my words to sink into her head. With the way things have changed in the last fifty or so years, most women balk at this way of thinking. Calling it ancient and useless. I wait to see how Jade will respond.

‘I’ve never thought about it like that.’

A smile moves over my lips. “Good girl.”

Jade

Only a few questions in and already he has me thinking differently. What he says is true. Women had it much easier before we decided we wanted to be equals in all ways. Not so long ago, women stayed home with the kids. They didn’t have to worry about work or paying bills. That was the man’s job.

Nowadays, mothers and wives go off to work, some have to actually leave their homes for days at a time. That’s left a generation of children who’ve been raised by strangers. People who work at the many daycare facilities that have sprung up all over the industrialized world now are responsible for the caring and nurturing of most babies and children, mothers once took care of all on their own.

Women now depend on their husbands to step up and take care of the children too. All chores are shared, and while that seems fair, I’ve seen a good number of frazzled parents in my time. Both are sleep deprived. Both have the weight of making sure the bills are paid, on their backs. And both have the responsibility of finding great jobs and keeping them, no matter how much pressure comes with that.

Men’s minds have also been changed. Most men, back in the day, wouldn’t have his wife working. He’d have been considered a dead beat or a loser if he sent his wife to work outside the home. Nowadays, it’s expected. And in a few words, Pierce has brought this home to me. How odd that I never thought of it before.

I can see the side of what Pierce has said. Then again, as a woman with a brain that begs for knowledge and gentle pressure to expand and learn more all the time, I can see why women fought to be let out of the house. I have also seen stay at home mothers who resemble zombies and have difficulty putting a sentence together, much less have conversations with other adults.

There are pros and cons either way you decide to live. That’s just a simple fact of life.

My next question is a bit hairy, and I hope I don’t offend the man again as I type, ‘I now understand how you think about the sexes. What I don’t understand is where the domination comes into play. Nor the physical punishments that come along with BDSM. Can you explain this to me?’

‘The physical punishments are accepted or rejected by each submissive. It is she who helps shape the agreements that are made between a Dom and his sub. Another thing you must not be aware of is that submissives hold all the cards. One simple word is all it takes to stop anything. It’s not quite the torturous world people make it out to be. And nothing happens to a sub that they’re against. That would be illegal, wouldn’t it?’

‘I suppose it would. So, these agreements, are the contracts that bind the sub to the Dom?’ I ask.

‘They are,’ he answers me, quickly. ‘But you must keep in mind that even a signed contract that’s been painstakingly worked out between the two parties still doesn’t give the Dom the right to proceed with any punishment or action if the sub doesn’t want it. No matter if she agreed to it in the first place or not. And a good Dom doesn’t want to inflict any pain, or pleasure for that matter, that his submissive doesn’t want.’

I find it hard to believe the man. I mean, he could tell me whatever he wants to. Because what woman wants to be ruled over and beat? So, I ask, ‘Pierce, what types of women want to be treated this way?’

‘There are women from various walks of life who seek this lifestyle. Maybe not all the time but some of the time. You see, when you get into this world, you find that anything is okay. If you want to live this way all the time then you can. If you want to dabble, you can do that too. There are no set rules. Except those that govern our society. SSC, safe, sane, consensual was put into use to make sure all who are involved in this type of lifestyle have a level of protection. Clubs keep the members in line too. That’s why it’s always a good idea to join one and only get involved with people who are part of one. There are enforcers who make sure no one is hurt beyond the point they’ve asked to be. If you’re interested in being an on-looker you can join a local club in your area and let them know what you want. We have voyeurs too. But I must warn you, it’s not easy to watch if you have no idea about what the people truly feel. It looks brutal after all.’

‘That it does, Pierce. And about that, you said you’ve been hit when you were training to be a Dom. Can you explain why anyone would want that?’

‘While I never got to the state of euphoria, I’ve heard it described as flying. A high that one gets when endorphins swarm the brain. At that point, when you add in sexual stimulation, it’s mind blowing. Some have described it as an out of body experience that took them to new levels in their minds and souls. You can see how one would enjoy that and seek it over and over again.’

‘Yet, you’ve never done that?’ I ask as I have no idea why he’d want to only inflict pain and get nothing out of it.

‘I’m more of a giver than a taker. Always have been.’

‘You make it sound noble, what you do,’ I type.

‘In a way, it is. Can you imagine if you had this itch in the middle of your back? And you tried everything to scratch it yourself. Rubbing your back on the door frame, trying to find a stick long enough to get to the exact spot you needed it to. But you couldn’t reach it, no matter what you did. And along came some person who could easily scratch that itch for you. But he didn’t want to inflict any type of pain on you. If you think about it, running one’s sharp fingernails across another person’s flesh sounds painful. Yet, it eases the itch, relieving the person of their problem.’

“Wow!” I say to myself. “This guy’s kind of deep. I didn’t expect this.”

He goes on, adding, ‘A doctor also causes his patient pain on many occasions in order to treat an ailment. Does anyone consider him immoral?’

My mind is swarming with more questions yet I feel as if he’s winning me over to his way of thinking. So, I ask, ‘When you’re hitting your subs, do you get sexually stimulated? I ask this because a doctor doesn’t get turned on by giving his patient pain. Nor does one get turned out by helping someone scratch an itch they can’t reach.’

Time goes by and I think he might be trying to figure out how to word his answer. Finally, the screen lights up. ‘Jade, you ask exemplary questions. The fact is that I do get turned on by what I do. Feminine screams and moans make my cock hard. But if you’d like to know the truth, your questions have stirred an erection too. You see, the libido is an odd thing. When one is young, the slightest breeze across your dick can make it go hard. As we get older, other things cause sexual excitement. A soft whisper uttered into an ear, a touch from a beautiful woman, a stimulating conversation between strangers. I bet you’re a remarkable young woman.’

He seems to be flirting which has me nervous for some reason. It’s stupid. The man is thousands of miles away from me. He can’t do a thing to me and here I am, fidgeting in my seat, my nipples are beginning to pebble and heat is filling my crotch.

I type, ‘How are you able to seduce me so quickly?’

‘Are you wet for me, Jade?’

My heart pounds as I type back, ‘I seem to be.’

‘Run your hand into your panties, Jade.’

His simple command has my hand moving without me thinking about it. I feel the heat radiating from my vagina. Then I use my right hand to type, ‘Perhaps you could take your enlarged cock into your hand, Pierce.’

‘It’s already there,’ he lets me know. ‘Run a finger into that virgin hole of yours. Pump it a few times and say my name as you do that.’

My cheeks heat as my pussy goes wet and I do as he’s told me to. This is not me! This isn’t a thing I’ve ever done!

But no one can see me and no one will ever know I did such a thing. So, I pump my finger and say his name out loud, “Pierce, Pierce, Pierce!”

His name rolls off my tongue as my eyes close and I keep going until the sound of another message comes in. I open my eyes to find he’s written, ‘Now use your other hand and pinch the shit out of your nipple and hold it there even though it hurts.’

I look at his words and wonder why I’d do such a thing. The fingering feels nice, the pinching won’t. But for some odd reason, I push my shirt up and pull my bra up too then pinch my nipple with my right hand while I finger myself with the other and let out a shriek. Not of pain but of something else. Pure bliss. Pure and unadulterated pleasure.

My God, how’s he corrupted me already?

Pierce

Ugly duckling or not, this young female has my cock aching for her. And she’s a virgin to boot! I wonder if there’s a chance in hell that I could get her to let me see her face. Or more of her for that matter!

I type in, ‘Jade, it’d be nice to watch one another as we do this. I’m going to end this message, and video call you. Answer when I do.’

‘No, don’t do that. It’s not that I don’t want to see you or you see me. It’s that the camera on my laptop is broken. And this is getting out of hand anyway. I never meant to start a dual masturbation thing with you. I need to go. I’m suddenly very ashamed of myself.’

“Shit!”

I type in, ‘No, don’t go. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You said yourself that you’ve masturbated before. So what, if you happen to be doing it while I am and thinking about me as you touch yourself. It’d sure be nice to add a face to what I’m fantasizing about. I’m picturing your ruby red lips wrapped around my cock. Are your lips ruby red, Jade?’

I rub myself as I wait for her to respond. ‘They happen to be pink at the moment. No lipstick on right now. Nor any makeup. Pierce, am I weird for doing this?’

‘No.’ I let her know with one flat word.

People and their unending need to justify what they do, to others is an annoyance to me. I’m sure the girl is alone, and no one has a clue what the hell she’s doing. And here she is wondering if she’s weird.

Weird would be her not doing it, in my opinion!

‘Do you have a dildo?’ I ask her to get her out of her own head and back into what we’re doing here.

‘How personal!’

‘Yes, it is. Much like you asking me if I get my rocks off when I give a woman the abuse she asks for. So, do you have one or not?’

‘Maybe,’ she writes.

‘Jade, I’m not a man who takes a lot of crap from people. Answer the question forthrightly. Or I can end this correspondence with one finger.’

‘I have one. What should I do with it, Pierce?’

“That’s better,” I say with a sigh.

‘Get it and put it where you’d like my cock to be, my love.’

‘Can you please refrain from saying words like love. I know you don’t love me. I don’t want this to get to that level. Ever!’

“Damn!” I groan at her mouthy reply.

I type in, ‘How about, baby then?’

‘I suppose that’ll be okay. I’ll be right back. I have to lube it all up. What color is your hair?’

“Whatever color you want it to be, baby,” I say out loud as I type, ‘Brown.’

It takes her a while to get back to me, and I stop rubbing my cock as I wait for her. I’ve never done this shit before. This is new to me. It’s a little weird, and I wish like hell I could actually fuck her. I wonder if that will ever be a possibility.

‘Brown? How long is it?’ she writes back.

My hand begins to move on my cock again. ‘Short on the sides, long on top. Long enough you can run your hands through it. Your hair color?’

‘Black. Shoulder length. I just got it cut.’

I like long hair, so I type, ‘Let it grow. I want to braid it when you come to me. Now tell me what you long for, Jade. Long walks on the beach, or hot nights in the sheets?’ I laugh as I use the corny-ass line.

‘Come to you?’ she writes.

‘Fantasy play, baby. Just go with it. And do you have that dildo going?’

‘I do,’ she sends me. ‘And I think I’d like to see what it’d be like in your sheets, Pierce.’

‘Really?’

‘This is a fantasy, remember?’ she puts back.

Mentally, I scold myself for being so quick to type that. What an amateur!

‘Just seeing if you were paying attention. Okay, I like to fuck hard. Push that cock into your sweet cunt, is it vibrating?’

‘Oh yeah,’ she writes. ‘And you want me to do it real hard, don’t’ you?’

‘Real hard. Slam my cock into your hot pussy, baby. Slam me in there until you’re ready to pop, then stop.’

I wait, stroking my cock as I think about my real cock going into her tight virgin canal. Man, I want her!

‘I’m on the edge, now what?’ she sends me.

The grin that forms is something I’m sure looks sadistic as I type, ‘Place that cock in your mouth and taste yourself, baby.’

“No fucking way!’

‘DO IT!’ I wait and wait.

After about three minutes, she sends, ‘Oh my God! I did it! And kind of made out with the vibrator. Oh God! I’m sick, aren’t I? Oh, don’t bother answering that. I know I am. I need to go. You have me doing terrible things. Bye.’

‘You’re not sick, Jade. Fuck, stop being such a prudish baby!’

‘I am a prude, aren’t I?’ her words echo in my head. ‘I’ll never be an erotic or even a comedy romance writer. I’ll most likely write boring articles for the newspaper and live in a house full of cats. Sorry to have bothered you.’

Sitting up, I hurriedly type, ‘Don’t end this! Please, don’t. Jade, I’d like to talk to you more. I really would. I’m the kind of man who likes to see dreams come to fruition. Much like in the scenes I create with the subs. And damn it, I want to create something for you. How about a scene where you’re already a celebrated author of erotic romance? A cool, sultry vixen you are. At your first awards ceremony, I escort you to the podium to accept your award as the best writer in the universe.’

‘This is silly,’ she writes back, but I’m happy she’s still there.

‘No, it’s not. Help me create it. What are you wearing to this awards ceremony?’

‘I like myself in black. Most of my clothes are black.’

‘What color are your eyes?’ I ask her.

‘Brown, well, a kind of golden brown.’

‘I see you in a yellow, flowing, nearly see-through dress. It billows out behind you as I hold you by the waist, possessively. The world thinks you’re mine and I’m proud to be at your side as you take the stage. Your creamy thighs make brief appearances through long slits in the dress as you glide over the tan marbled floor. And then a tall, elegant woman, wearing a short, tight red dress, hands you a crystal trophy. Your name is etched in the crystal; Writer of the year, Jade Thomas. And then you look into my eyes.’

She asks, ‘What color are they?’

I’m glad to see she’s getting into it and type, ‘Blueish brown, hazel is what they’re called. When you look into them, I can see your depth. You have honesty and courage, and I’m lost in your gaze. The people are all cheering, and I turn you to look at them then slap your ass, making them all cheer. You blush and drop your gorgeous head. I take your chin with two of my fingers and make you look up and tell you how perfect you are.’

‘Then do we kiss?’ she asks, and I can almost feel her breathless question even though it’s only written words.

‘Our mouths make slow progress to the others. Our lips touch and heat builds inside of us both. Then my tongue eases through your lips, taking your tongue, making it submit to mine. I move my tongue around yours in a dance that sends it into a frenzy of lusty need as I cradle you in my strong arms.’

‘Ahem, so in this little fantasy, other than the slap on my ass, what else occurs, in the punishment department?’ she asks.

I feel she’s too into the punishment part of what this is all about and admonish her, quickly, ‘Jade, I didn’t ask you to ask me questions. I told you to add to the fantasy what you wanted to. You have to quit acting as if this is about punishment all the time. If you want me to take you by the neck with my belt and haul your sweet ass off stage where I throw you up against the wall and take you right there on the backstage, then say that. DO NOT ask me what I’ll do to you! This is your fantasy, tell me what you want. Do you want me to pull your dress away from your breasts and take a flogger to them as your fans watch? Or would you like to be a bit more discreet and have me escort you off stage then take you to your dressing room and bend you over the chair you sat in when they did your hair and makeup and smack your ass until you cry then shove my cock into your wet pussy?’

‘Damn!’ is her reply.

I tell her the same thing, ‘Damn, is right. Your mind is narrow where BDSM is concerned. You’ve formed your opinions on the trash you’ve read in those stupid little novels. Here, in my world, things aren’t always glowing brightly in the sun, but sometimes they are. All is not dark. All is not sinister. And all is not as the fairy tales lead you all to believe. Pain is a part of life, and when one finds it can be turned into a pleasure you could never get anywhere else, it becomes addictive. Don’t judge until you’ve been there, Jade Thomas!’

‘You’re right, Pierce. This was a mistake. Bye.’

‘NO!’

I wait and wait, but she’s gone. She’s really gone. And I’m left feeling more empty than I’ve ever been…

To be continued…

This Novel will be finished and published in May 2017