Learning Discipline
Yes, I went a little wild for those few years in Georgia and gave my mom hell. In my defense, her decisions had a direct effect on what I was forced to leave behind, which made anger, resentment, and loss consume me. She was the one who came to America and built our life without papers. She gave Mr. Thurman all the power.
At eighteen, my mom had to set me straight. I was becoming too much for her to handle in order to be able to keep her job and have a safe place in America. My mom’s job in Georgia, although the family was better than Mr. Thurman, was still arranged by him and a tie to him, a tie to the son I couldn’t see, couldn’t hold, couldn’t raise, couldn’t show how much I really loved and wanted him. As a result, we moved from Georgia to Charlotte where my mom was able to get a job as a nanny and housekeeper.
Finally, I was away from the bastard who had taken everything from me. However, deciding to do better and actually doing better are two totally different things. Charlotte was supposed to be a fresh start, a way to let the baggage of the past stay in the past. However, I couldn’t help slipping. Staying home allowed me too much free time, and idle hands made for an idle mind when memories still flooded me, the thoughts eating at me, reminding me over and over of all that I didn’t have.
One night, I was out, running amuck. High on ecstasy and drunk, I went into a club. After hours of dancing and grinding on the floor, I met Kinsley Kiden. She was there with her man, or who I thought was her man, and he was watching me. After he whispered in her ear, she came over, and we spent the next hour grinding on each other before I went home with them.
Once at their place, my body was on fire for a release. After Kinsley kissed me, I was ready to explore a woman’s body in a way I had never done before. I immediately removed her shirt, my body seeking skin-to-skin contact.
Marcus, ever the observant one, watched for the longest time. I thought it was because men were like that. Hell, I had his girlfriend laid out on the couch, her top gone, breasts exposed, and my hands were on their way up her skirt to the lacey panties hidden under the denim while she removed my clothes.
I was grinding shamelessly against her leg, not fazed that she was a female, and I was by no means a lesbian. I wanted to fuck. I wanted to get lost in sensations. Forget everything.
I sucked hard on her nipple, roaming farther down with my hands, finding her damp panties. Meanwhile, Kinsley pushed her hand between us, down into my panties. Then her fingers rubbed slow circles on my clit, leaving me craving more.
I attacked her breasts as my fingers pushed the scrap of fabric covering her aside to plunge into her with determined fervor. I wanted her. I wanted him. Hell, I wanted anyone who would give me pleasure and fill me with something to take away the void, even for a moment.
Just as Kinsley inserted her finger inside me, Marcus barked at us, “No, Kinsley.”
She immediately stopped everything and stilled.
What the fuck? I was so close, my body shaking in frustration, and she was soaking wet. Seconds before, she had been rocking into me, seeking more, her release building as I felt her clenching around my fingers. Yet, on his words, she had stopped, like she could turn it off that easily. Who had self-control like that?
Marcus looked at me curiously. “Sophia, are you on something?”
Annoyed by his ability to see through me, angered by my need to escape and inability to be lost in the sensations anymore, and ashamed that I was willing to go so far with another woman, I immediately stood up and started getting dressed.
“Stop,” Marcus commanded, the edge in his tone one that turned me on and halted my movements.
Turning to look at him, I was embarrassed by my behavior. Moreover, I was still craving release, the ecstasy still running through me.
“You need discipline and control. The build-up to an orgasm is not one that needs to be aided by any drug-induced euphoria. When your partner knows your body and controls your situation, your natural endorphins will be the only high you need.”
That night was enlightening, to say the least. Marcus and Kinsley gave me an introduction to discipline.
Marcus was my first Dominant partner. He sent me home unfulfilled that night, but soon taught me so much that, not only gave my body the release I was seeking, it also taught me self-control in all things. He wouldn’t allow me to continue any drug use or drink. My body was my temple and his playground, and I needed to take care of it.
Kinsley and I never fooled around again. She became a close friend who helped me sort through information overload of the BDSM world. She was being trained by Marcus, but not in a traditional relationship. Kinsley moved on to a full relationship with another Dom named Henry, while Marcus and I were together as a Dom/sub for two years before deciding to move on.
Marcus also owned a tattoo parlor, and over the course of our time together, I shared with him my passion for drawing. He saw the talent in me and took me on as his apprentice.
My career as a tattoo artist has been amazing. Being able to mark someone’s body permanently is not something to take lightly. A piece of me goes into them with every jab of the needle, and they will forever look at that ink and think back to sitting under my skilled hands.
I still work for him now. He knows my story and even paid for a PI to get information on my son after two lawyers, that I saved up and paid, told me the paperwork was ironclad. When I was once again faced with a dead end, Marcus realized I truly couldn’t give more than my body to him or anyone else, and he wanted more than that. As with Harrison, Marcus, and the two others I gave myself to, I could be in a sex-only relationship, nothing deeper.
I need the release, the pain and, at times, I need the humiliation in a club setting. I need the punishment to keep me focused and in line. Most of all, I need the ability to turn over the control of my release to someone else.
At least as a sub, I have my limits. I have a safe word when it gets to be too much. With these boundaries and measures, I have a say in what happens to my body. When my son was born, I had no say. I didn’t even know his name until Marcus had his lawyer on it.
Wayne Trenton Thurman III. They call him Trey for short. The private investigator said he is happy, thriving, and unaffected by my absence, living with Wayne and Trenton on the ranch.
Trenton doesn’t have a love interest or woman in his life or Trey’s. I have a picture from when my son was five years old that the investigator gave me. The P.I. felt that the boy was fine, considering the circumstances.
Well, I’m glad someone is fine in all this, because I’m not. My heart bleeds for my baby boy every single day. No man can fix that for me.