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Cyberslave Thunder
It was fall, almost exactly one year ago.
Shortly after Richard told me I was no longer going to be able to dominate him,
that I had to find someone else, I fell into a sort of surrealistic depression.
It wasn't all-consuming or totally incapacitating, but it was like a nagging
hole that wouldn't go away.
It was sort of like a sense of dread, of wondering when the next urges would hit
me, and what would I do when I went to pick up the phone and call him.
See, Richard wasn't my boyfriend, or even my lover. He was a friend - a friend
for many years - the first person to truly understand and respect - and
challenge - the side of me that needed to see a man helpless and at my mercy.
So he was like my safety net. When I wasn't in a relationship and the desire was
overwhelming and all-consuming, I would call him.
The wonderful thing about it was that I could call him anytime, even in the
middle of the night, and he understood how important it was to me. It was
perfect, because the times when I did not have a regular partner I was usually
overwhelmed with my job, unable to pursue relationships, and as a result of the
stress the desire would suddenly and without warning become impossible to
ignore.
I could just pick up the phone and call him.
Until last Fall.
*
We did not have a one-sided relationship, Richard and I. In fact, I got him out
of a lot more binds than I ever put him in, so to speak. But his decision that
he could not play any more was based on his own moral frustrations, his ego, his
pride. Something to do with being mistreated by women for real and not wanting
to remember that pain. Something melodramatic, darkly romantic, confusing and
coded to me.
All the reasons I loved him, that artist in him, and the reasons that eventually
put an end to our Mistress/slave games.
So I was left hanging there, nervous. Right in the middle of an extremely
intense project at work, with the end not in sight. The hunger had been gone for
a few weeks and I knew it would be back soon, and there was little chance I
would find a suitable mate in time for the storm.
And when it hit me that time, it hit me hard.
*
"Please," I remember saying to him on the phone. "Can you do something, can you
at least come over so we can discuss this face to face?"
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said back. His voice was so soft. Even hearing it, I swore I could hear every little breath, was making me shake all
over with hunger.
"I won't do anything, you know that. You know I would never do something to you
against your will."
"I don't know, Akasha. You sound like you are on the edge right now. I can't
resist you, because I care about you. I can't be put in that position. I told
you I can't do it anymore, it fucks up my head."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this. It was a loving, caring interaction. It was
roleplaying. You were the one that taught me it was ok, remember?"
He sighed, and I heard voices in the background at his work. "I've changed.
Something inside of me snapped. I can't handle the mindfuck."
"Are you saying never, or just until you figure things out?" I asked. I closed
my eyes. I just listened. My palms were sweating, I felt like a drug addict
going through withdrawls. Or at least what I speculated that to be like.
"Never. I am sure of that. I can't, I'm sorry. You know you can find someone
else, you have tons of people begging for this."
"It's not the same. They aren't YOU, Richard."
"I'm nothing special."
"You have no idea."
*
I think the next few weeks were just a blur. Every song had some special meaning
to me, every slight bondage innuendo stuck out to me. Even watching people kneel
down to pick things up distracted me. I had no time to even go out to a club
with friends to view prospects --- not that I was in a safe frame of mind to
judge character.
I resigned myself to get through the work hurdle and deal with the burning
hunger afterward. I wrote a lot, mostly things that made no sense and were full
of dark images, of men tortured and begging for mercy. I masturbated all the
time, I looked through my toys with a sense of nostalgia.
I missed Richard. But I didn't call him. I knew just hearing his voice would kill me.
*
That night, the night it all came together, was a rainy night for Southern California. See, we don't get rain here, especially as early as October. Not only did we get rain, we got some lightning and thunder too, which was extremely rare.
I was trying desperately to fall asleep because I had a huge presentation to do
the next day. Whenever I went to bed before ready to sleep my mind was filled
with thoughts of domination. I was like a child distracted with the prospect of
Christmas around the corner, but there was no tangible end to the wait.
Unable to masturbate, unable to put the thoughts out of my head, I just laid in
bed and listened to the rain and thunder. I imagined for a moment the most
complex bondage situations I could put someone in, and that appeased me for sometime.
I used combinations of shackles and rope in my mind, trying to picture what the
perfect gag would be to complement the situations. Silly, I remember me thinking, that I can sit here and amuse myself with these thoughts.
It was almost 2am when I heard steps on my porch. I lived in a house a year ago
with roommates, and I had my own entrance through the backyard that I used. I
was used to hearing when footsteps were on the porch approaching my door, but
this time I thought certainly it must be the rain.
Because I had no gentleman callers, I had no boyfriend, and Richard certainly
was keeping his distance.
There wasn't any fear when I heard a tapping on the glass of my large doors. I
didn't even grab a robe, I just slid from my bed in a long t-shirt and peered
through the drapes.
He was standing there, soaking in the rain. No umbrella, no raincoat. Just a
backpack over one shoulder, and his head down.
And before I even opened the door, I knew he was totally wasted.
*
I've never taken any recreational drugs in my life, unless you consider
drinking. Richard, on the other hand, had done just about everything. A frustrated, pensive, self destructive martyr poet. Which is probably why he was
so dark and passionate, and at the same time someone I could never love forever for fear that he'd be gone the next day.
On that night, I did not know exactly what Richard was on, or why he showed up
at my door. There had been times when he'd call me to pick him up at a party
when he was too drunk to drive, or would show up in the middle of the night
wanting to wait out an acid trip.
But this time, he looked like he was in real pain. I opened the door took him by
the arm to pull him inside, ignoring his mumbling for a towel to put on the
floor. It didn't matter to me at that moment that he was dripping water
everywhere, I just wanted him out from the cold.
I closed the door and he stood there, arms crossed over his chest, head down and
hair matted to his face. I tried to get close to him, vainly thinking I could
warm him, but all it did was soak my t-shirt to my body and start me shivering
as well.
"What happened??" I asked him, pushing some of the wet hair out of his face to
get him to look at me. I saw wet eyelashes, red eyes, and total distance.
"My dad," he said, his lips barely moving. "We had a fight. I had to get out of
there."
"It's ok," I said. "You can stay here." I was trying to get his clothes off, his
jacket at least, but he shrugged out of my grip and headed toward the bathroom.
He left with such urgency that I thought for certain he was going to be sick, or
was having a bad trip.
It wasn't until I got back into bed that I realized what it probably really was.
He was afraid of me.
*
I tried. I tried really, really hard to go to sleep. I knew sleep would be the
best way to get the thoughts out of my head. But as I heard him in the shower,
listening like a worried mother for a sudden fall, splash, or something to
indicate he'd hurt himself, I couldn't put the ideas out of my head that he was
in the same room.
And as much as I was worried about him, about whatever drugs he might be on,
about what his dad must have said or did to him, the animal in me would not shut
up. Akasha, it was saying, take him.
I hated myself at that moment. I hid my face under a pillow and clenched my
teeth. All I had with me were images of him. Helpless. How he'd struggle for me,
how he'd scream. He'd scream at me, yell at me, curse at me, drive me to shove a
dirty towel, anything I could get my hands on, into his mouth.
"You need to be pushed," he'd say to me afterward when I was shaking like a
child in his arms. "You need to be pushed to do the things that scare you."
"I can't believe I did that to you," I would say. And he'd smile, smile from under his bangs, let me nurse his wounds, and then we'd fall asleep next to each
other.
These thoughts haunted me as I listened to him shower. They haunted me because
it made me realize even more that it was gone forever. I could never replace this person, never train anyone to do what he did. Hell, he was the one that
taught me.
He was the one that said, "You need to hurt other people. It makes you feel alive."
I had sat there shaking my head. Arguing with him. We'd sit up drinking vodka
right out of the bottle in a hotel room, arguing about my wiring and about his
wiring and why he should label me "the reluctant sadist."
Smothering myself under the pillow to drown out the sounds of the shower, I
willed myself back to sleep. Half conscious, thinking of the rain, listening to
the patterns. Hearing a faint clap of thunder too far away to even claim as our
own.
The water was shut off.. I heard his footsteps, too heavy to belong to a person
in his right mind. Mumbling, talking to himself. For a long time he was in the
bathroom, and the protective side of me wanted to go make sure he was ok.
But I knew, at that moment, to protect him I should stay the hell away.
So I cowered in my own bed and tried to ignore that desire to find him, pin him,
bind him and totally possess him. After all, my hunger said to me, he won't even
remember in the morning.
*
Somehow, god knows how, I fell asleep. But I think it was only for about 10
minutes, because I woke up and saw him right there in front of me. I had been on
my side facing the hall that led to the bathroom, and he'd crept out slowly (in
my half asleep state I heard the creaking of my hardwood floors meshed with the
sound of the rain still pelting the windows) and perched himself, wrapped in a
towel, next to my bed on the floor.
I think he was watching me. The first thing I saw when my lids opened were his
eyes, wide, his pupils looked dark. His hair was slicked back now, he was naked
but wrapped in a towel.
I shut my eyes. Just seeing him there wasn't helping.
"I know what you need," he said.
It wasn't his voice. That was what was unnerving about it. He was in another
place obviously, and this other version of him was there talking to me. I didn't
open my eyes, but I asked quietly, evenly, "What did you take?"
There was a silence, then a sigh. A long, melodramatic sigh. I heard the motion,
knew he was running a hand through his hair. "A little of this. A little of
that. A little more to make it all go away."
"You should go to sleep."
"What, sleep next to the sleeping tigress?" he laughed softly. "Have you laid a
trap in the bed next to you?"
"Stop it, Richard, come to bed. I'm not going to touch you." I still did not
open my eyes.
"But when I fall asleep, and you hear my steady breathing and know I am gone,
that is when you will come after me. With your scarves hidden under the bed. Or
handcuffs under your pillow. When you hear the steadiness in my chest, you feel
the breath against your cheek, you see my eyes are still -"
"Would you stop it," I interrupted, as if annoyed by his babbling. But in
reality, what he was saying was only making it worse. He was purposely
antagonizing me.
I heard the floor creak as he moved positions. "I can't sleep next to the beast.
That's asking for it. I know how bad you want to tie me up and torture me,
Akasha. No, I am better staying right here."
I rolled over the other way this time. "Stay there then. Just stop talking to
me, don't bring it up, you're only making it worse."
At that moment, I realized it was all intentional. Because he moved forward,
making it apparent to me that he was kneeling because that was the only way he
could reach me and put his chin on my pillow behind my head. His voice was soft,
almost a whisper. "You want to make me beg don't you?"
I sat upright in bed, turning so fast that my hair whipped me in the face. He
looked up. His hands were together in a praying position. He was on his knees.
The towel was sprawled over his lap. He lifted his wrists to me, bound together
in a position of offering.
I slapped them away. "Stop it. You're wasted. You don't want this. You TOLD me
yourself you didn't want this anymore. Then you come here, shitfaced out of your
own mind, and are cruel enough to flaunt it in front of me? THAT'S NOT FAIR!"
"I'm taking it back," he hissed. "Take me. I'm fucking yours, Akasha. Beat me.
Fuck me up. Use me. Feed that hunger, have me in any way you want."
"You're high. Sleep it off. You're making me sick." I said. I was shaking now.
"You don't know what I want," he argued, leaning closer. "I have been so fucked
over in the last week, Akasha, I don't know what it is like to feel any more. I
don't feel anything."
"You don't feel anything because you've probably been on drugs the whole time."
"I need to feel again. Make me feel something, Akasha, anything."
Suddenly he looked different. No, he wasn't belligerent anymore. He was being
sincere. He was in pain. He wanted to escape from whatever he was feeling by
feeling something else, the emotions that he knew would come with totally
surrendering to me.
I was holding a pillow to my chest, shivering. Richard remained kneeling there,
looking up at me with piercing blue eyes, wanting. He reached up slowly and took
my hand, pulling it away from the pillow. He moved it slowly, intertwining the
fingers of his other hand with mine, then guiding it up to his hair. Shutting
his eyes slowly, he guided my fingertips into his damp hair.
Surely he felt me shaking all over, harder.
"I'm giving you permission, Akasha."
"How could you do this to me," I said. I was on the verge of tears. I felt
conflict like I had never felt before. "Tomorrow you would hate me. You would
realize what you asked me to do, and hate me for taking advantage of you."
"I won't. I promise."
I sat there and considered my options. For all of about a minute.
**
What you have to understand about the animal in me is that it is not rational. At some point between hunger, desire, and action there is a complete loss of logic.Sometimes it hits me half way through the scene. Sometimes it never hits me at all.That night, with Richard kneeling at my bedside, high on god knows what, asking to be taken, it hit me before I even put a hand on him.
It came to me in a sort of furious rage, almost. I felt nothing for him at that
moment but rage - the rage was the overpowering emotion. I felt stinging in my
eyes like I was about to cry, but all I felt was the desire to break him into
little pieces and feel him completely desperate in my arms.
It was very much a burning, a heat, and I felt like if I put my hands on him
they would burn right through his skin. I wanted it. I wanted my mere touch to
put him in pain. And when I clenched my teeth and reached out to grab his
wrists, he cowered in one swift movement that seemed to shift the power struggle
all to me.
It was as if he'd been sitting trying to light a fire for fifteen minutes,
striking match after match, knowing that when he finally lit it, it would
explode right before him. And it did, and he cowered.
And that made me want it more. He knew exactly what he was doing.
*****
I was on the floor, pressing his back into the hardwood, pinning his wrists down
above his head. His body twisted under me, throwing his head from side to side so hard that water splashed me, his wet locks whipped my face and actually
stung.
And I slapped him. Backhanded him, hard, in response for the thrashing, and he
reached up, howling at me, at first I thought he was going to push me off, but
his hands instead moved up to hide his face.
Two hands, two clenched fists, covering his face. Shuddering. Shaking. Knees up
behind me, waist shifting, the last few attempts to perhaps buck me off of him.
I saw wet hair. I saw -- somehow, in the dark room -- one blue eye peering from
behind his fists. Blinking.
It seemed like a good minute of just looking at him. We weren't talking. My mind
was racing.
"What are you going to do to me," he said. One sentence. It was quiet, not
melodramatic. Just there.
I blinked slowly. I could hear my heart pounding in my head. My palms were
sweating. I felt a steady aching between my legs. I wiped my mouth with my arm.
Now both of us were not in any frame of mind for logic. I was, arguably, twice
as high as he was. I think he knew, in his stoned delirium, that he wasn't safe
anymore.
*****
"You want this," I hissed into his ear as I wrapped the rope around his wrists
behind his back. He struggled somewhat, just enough to make it hard for me to
get the knots tied in the dark.
His head turned slightly toward me. "I want to feed you."
"Tell me you want this," I hissed. "I need to hear it once more, Richard, before
I totally take you."
"I need to have some purpose," he said. Slurring. "Even if it means being this
for you. At least...at least I feel like I serve someone. Mean something to
someone."
The words fucked with my headspace. Emotions. I slapped a hand over his mouth
from behind. He mmpfed in response. "Don't fill my head with romantic bullshit
Richard. You're my property at this point. Get it?"
A nod. One of those -- nods. Richard had this nod that was short, barely even an
acknowledgement. He had the distinct ability to turn any subtle communication so
non-distinct that I knew what the answer was, but could read nothing else
between the lines.
That was how he maintained some level of control. Because I had no idea if he
was breaking, if he was laughing in his head, or if he was somewhere in between.
I shoved him down and hogtied him. I hogtied him with a knee in the small of his
back, the whole charade accented by the lightning and thunder and his hissing,
his breath coming out in frustrated grunts.
My entertainment was watching him picking at the knots on his wrists as I locked
his ankles together. Seeing him already trying to get away. And knowing that it
was useless.
I may have been high on my own hunger, but I was precise and thorough.
He, on the other hand, was clumsy and impatient. He would never get away.
*****
I shoved him, hogtied as he was, up against the far wall in my room. He
crouched, kneeling, sort of curled up, and watched me sit on the bed just a few
feet in front of him.
It was all real to me now, seeing him there, my mouth watered and I was
bombarded with conflicting desires all at once. Watching him, I let them flow
over me like cascading water, enjoying each image. My feet pressing up against
his chest now, bare toes tickling his chest, and all he could do was flicker his
lashes and look, look away, and look again. Toss that hair from his face.
Images. I wanted to share with him.
I sat, with an elbow on my knee. I felt such the vixen bitch. "I could beat you,
beat you until you cry for me, little boy. Beat you until you are red, bruised."
He tossed his bangs out of the way again. "Yeah, you could. But you wouldn't."
Defiant.
I raised my eyebrows. "Oh, is this the version I get graced with tonight? The
defiant little prick boy?"
He looked away a little, then back at me. "Make it worthwhile for both of us
Akasha. At least do something that scares us both."
That comment slapped me a little. I bit my lip, thinking. Damn him, I muttered
in my own head, for shoving those little reality comments at me right when I was
deep.
My foot moved up his chest, toward his chin. I pressed into his adam's apple. He
shifted and threw his head from side to side then glared at me.
"Suck my toes. Come on."
"Say please." he replied.
And then it happened, one of our classic scene explosions, but this time with
two people out of their mind. I lunged at him, I grabbed the first thing I could
find that was cloth which was a pair of my panties from my clean laundry pile on
the dresser, and he screamed at me, "Don't you even think about it!" as he threw
his head back and forth to avoid having them shoved into his mouth.
I straddled him so hard that he fell over to the floor, and I pinned him.
I shoved them into his mouth, and he wailed, protested, writhed, kicked. The
next time I saw his eyes they were red. Red with fury, with tears. He was
glaring at me, he was shaking. I could tell he was about to spit them out, and I
said two words to him.
"Duct tape." It was a threat.
He threw his head to the side. My heart was pounding. I saw the veins in his
neck. He was breathing so hard.
I wanted to see him broken.
*****
As I went through my toy chest in the closet, a few thoughts occurred to me.
Horrible, logical thoughts.
What if he sobers up half way through and realizes what we are doing. What if
*I* sober up half way through and realize the same thing.
What if he makes me hurt him more than I can deal with afterward. (Richard had
been the only one to push me past my own limits without breaking them, which
required a lot of strength on his part and support afterward when I sat in shock
over what had happened).
What if I hurt him.
What if he hurt *me*.
I swallowed, kneeled there in my pile of toys. The silver nipple clamps felt so
good in my palm. I saw the gag I had never used on him but wanted to. I saw the
leather blindfold (he hated to have his eyes covered, he knew they were the best
weapon).
I turned, slowly, and peered out of my closet to wear he was, curled in a
hogtied little ball, on my floor. His chin was to his chest. He'd kept the
panties in his mouth (which surprised me). He was still working at the knots
with his fingers (which did not surprise me).
What scared me most, though, at that moment, was that if I went to him and
ungagged him and asked him, "Do you still want this?", he would say no. That
after having the taste that he did, he would realize why it was he'd told me
that he could not submit any more.
That as he cowered, hogtied with the uncomfortable fabric rammed deep into his
mouth, he'd realize how it didn't make him feel better, it made him feel worse.
I was sitting there, sitting in a pile of leather and shackles, floggers and
crops, and I started to cry.
First, just silent little tears, and he had no idea. Then, maybe he wondered
what was taking so long, he looked up as best he could (sideways, basically),
and saw me.
And I was sitting there curled up in a ball myself, knees to my chest, crying.
It just all hit me at once.
*****
Through blurry irrational eyes I saw him shift gears so quickly that in
hindsight it leaves me in a sort of awe. He shook his head, spit out the gag,
and said, "Akasha what's wrong?"
And his voice was strong. Sober. Confident.
No words would come out. I think, I don't know. I think maybe I just lost it,
for those few minutes, because of the rush of desire with the rush of guilt and
uncertainty all at the same time. I felt like I was raping a minor, because he
had been in no shape to consent to anything, and the animal in me had taken
over.
I buried my face in my arms, over my knees, and could say nothing.
I heard fumbling. I heard cursing. I looked up, through wet blurry eyes, and saw
him looking over his shoulder at the knots that held him in place. He was trying
to get away, yes, more than ever. I had never seen him try that hard.
I let out a half-laugh sob, thinking to myself, damn, too bad I'm too fucked up
to enjoy this show, he really looks desperate to get loose.
"Akasha," he turned suddenly. "Come let me go. Come on, you need help."
I couldn't move or reply, and I don't know if it is because I was too messed up
or because on some primal level I was enjoying watching his desperation.
Not because his helplessness was the ultimate act of submission. But because his
need to help me was the ultimate act of love.
"Fuck," he muttered, and it looked as if he was determined to get into a
position to crawl over to me.
"Stop," I said through tears. "Just...just stay there. I will be ok in a
minute."
He stopped, looked at me, took a breath, and said, "Come over here, Akasha, and
untie this."
I didn't.
*****
If you have ever been in between that place of sanity and insanity, you will
know what I mean. But it was as if I regained myself slightly at that moment,
and the hunger to go on was more important than the pain to go on.
I moved to him, on my own knees, wiping away the remaining tears. I went to him
with a soft tone, taking his face in my hands, and I said, "I have to hurt you."
He looked at me, blinked, and then struggled. "My god. You are really fucked up
Akasha. Let me go."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Just untie this knot, and we will talk."
He was nodding to the knot as I reached over and picked up the gag again. He
looked at it and said, "Oh no, wait."
He turned away, but I caught him anyway, and all he was left with was his eyes.
I stared at him, at the panic in my eyes. "You didn't really think," I said
slowly, pushing the hair out of his face, "that a little guilt would get to me?"
*****
As I placed the implements one by one in front of him, he was chattering away.
"You know," he said, "I can take a lot of shit, Akasha. I can take anything from
you..."
I eyed the crop in my hand, turned it so I could see each side, then placed it
next to the rubber flogger.
"But I don't feel like you are in your right mind, at this particular moment.
You aren't rational."
I did not look at him, but lifted and investigated a paddle with holes in it.
"Sort of like...a guy who comes to me, high on all sorts of drugs, then tells me
it is ok to dominate him?"
There was no reply at first. Finally he said, "That's not fair."
"Is it fair, to say, that you were not in a rational state when you teased,
coaxed, and seduced me into this?" I asked him, still not looking at him.
He sighed and rolled back over. "I can't believe I turned you into this."
"You did. Now deal with it."
And then I started in on him.
*****
The scene, itself, was nothing out of the ordinary for us. I paddled him, I
flogged him, I clamped his nipples. He screamed at me, called me a bitch, I
slapped him and shoved a gag into his mouth. He gave me looks that made me shake
all over, I touched his body in ways that made him feel like a male prostitute.
He never safeworded, I never broke down in the middle.
The sun was coming up when he kneeled there, breathing hard through his nose,
his eyes telling me he could take more. That the fear was there, but he was
willing to go on.
Perhaps he was sober now, and I was the one too high to deal with reality. I was
like a hunger ravaged creature not wanting to stop gorging, and he was taking it
all. And while most of time I would get my fill and stop, it was as if I was
stuffing myself thinking I might not get another taste of him for weeks. Or
forever.
Weary, tired, he looked at me. Swallowing. Twisting his body what he could
against the bonds that still remained.
It occurred to me that it was early in the morning now, and that whatever drugs
he had been on probably, for the most part, were out of his system or at least
not fogging his thinking.
That scared me.
"What have I done," I shuddered.
He rolled over slightly, lowering his head, falling into my lap.
I stared out the window, realizing not only was it morning, but that storm I had
loved so much was gone.
And Richard was asleep. Content. Peaceful.
We never mentioned that night after it happened. And we have not played since.
-the end-
