Important Note: Please read this before continuing. This story is written largely in protest against the negative media portrayals of D/s relationships. Having never been in a long-term D/s relationship myself, although I have dabbled frequently in BDSM, I’m increasingly disappointed as we’re all being painted as disgusting sado-masochists. This is my attempt to give humor and background to a fictional D/s couple.
This is not the story you want for a quick climax. I’m going to take a few chapters to develop the characters, and this story will rely much more heavily on scene-setting, internal narration, and character development than your average erotica story. I realize this may not be the ideal site for such a story, but even so, I would love to hear feedback and criticism regarding my story and writing.
Tom glanced at my computer screen, settling his big hands over my shoulders. I tilted my head back to catch his expression; he was looking at my writing with wry incredulity. “You honestly want to write all that?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes! I think it’s important. You know, a lot of couples like us write down their story of how they started.” I answered, shifting my weight in the swivel chair.
“Right, and what are we supposed to do with this, love? Are we gonna show it to our kids or something? ‘Come here, Billy, sit on my knee, and I’ll tell you the story of how I suspended your mother and spanked her with –‘”
I swatted him one and giggled in spite of myself. “We’re not going to show it to our kids. And anyway, I thought we decided on no offspring? Y’know, to minimize the damage to the world?”
“I know we agreed on that,” Tom said thoughtfully, scraping the stubble on his chin, “but honestly, I don’t see how the world would be worse off if there were a few children running around with my beautiful face.”
“Shut up, Tom,” I laughed. “I’m writing it. I think it’ll be fun. We’ve been through a lot, and I think it needs to be documented.”
“Document away,” he sighed. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
“Nuh-huh!” I said, grabbing the back of his shirt. “We’re writing this together!”
“Madeline,” he said in That Voice. I let go of the back of his shirt instantly. “What did I say about grabbing my clothing?” He sounded patient, but his Master side was emerging again. I looked down.
“You said not to,” I said, feeling a small and chastened. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”
He said nothing, but rolled his eyes and pulled up a chair next to mine. “See that it doesn’t happen again,” Tom said, but The Voice had left and he was my big, rangy Tomcat again.
“All right, let’s get this show on the road.” I said, cracking all of my knuckles.
Chapter One: Kitty In The Corner
We met online. Isn’t that how all modern romances start? Through the glow of computer screens and the abuse of keyboards, we met on a forum board. There I was, sitting cross-legged on my bed, proud as a peacock in my first apartment and trying to be an adult. The childishness of college had passed, and now that I was a grown woman, I could make my own decisions. I had moved out, gotten my own little place and secured a nice little job. Three big decisions that I had made in less than a week and all of them brought me massive quantities of happiness. So what was the fourth decision, and the one that impacted my entire life?
Why, make an account on an adult forum, of course.
Since I was a grown woman who made her own decisions, I figured I could handle my own in political and religious debates. I had an English degree under my belt, and I was skillful at bringing down people’s arguments. What I didn’t anticipate was a bunch of randy males all talking about the one thing I had virtually no experience in – sex.
S-E-X. In my house, rigid Catholic upbringing trumped any teenage curiosity I had about the opposite gender. Oh don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a saint or anything; I had my share of fantasies and make-out sessions in cars and movie theatres. I’d seen a dick and had my boobs groped and figured that would get me until my mid-twenties, where I would find the Special Someone and we’d go gallivanting off into the sunset. (Metaphorically speaking. I hate going anywhere into the sunset, you’ll damage your eyes that way.)
So you can imagine my innocence when I registered my account and started striking up conversations with lonely males. I’ll admit, I wasn’t totally unaware what I was doing – the good girl act only goes so deep – but part of me was genuinely curious about that whole taboo aspect of life. In a few short weeks, thanks to Google and my now-beloved forums, I learned a lot.
Men, as a general rule, love to talk about sex. And cocks. And the girls they’ve banged. Somehow, this becomes even more concentrated over the internet, when they can make up whatever the hell they want. So I saw a lot of internet fights over who did who and while seeing what. And it exposed me to a bewildering little facet of the universe called BDSM, which fascinated and horrified me at the same time. After having been introduced to such a thing, I naturally did a Google images search and promptly scarred myself for life.
BDSM is not very well portrayed in the media. And if it wasn’t for my blog post about discovering such horrendous imagery, I never would have met Tomcat. He was somewhat of a legend on the forum I frequented, thanks to his love of sarcasm and knowledge about practically everything. Tomcat was well known for breaking up aforementioned internet squabbles, and a great many people thought of him as a bit of a know-it-all. To have him comment on my measly little blog, well, it was intriguing to say the least.
Tomcat said: You’re very curious about BDSM. I could have told you to steer clear of Google images, we’re not very well portrayed out in the big world. If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to come to me, okay?
And how could a naïve (all right, not that naïve) young girl resist such a wealth of information?
It led to such discussions as, Are You Mentally Well? Have You Spanked Anyone Recently? Why Are People Into This? Thankfully, Tomcat was quite patient with me about my asinine questions, and answered them readily. He, in turn, was curious about me, and I was far less inclined to answer him. We didn’t swap pictures, but the message was quite clear when he posted a picture of himself on the forum boards: Your Turn, Mousey.
But since he posted his picture first, I got an entire day of ogling him and daydreaming about him at work. Although it wasn’t readily visible in the photo, Tomcat is a big man. Broad shoulders, wide chest, large hands, just big all the way through. He was also quite scruffy, and quite a bit older than I had pictured him, maybe in his mid-forties. There was silver in his hair and scruff, and there were obvious dark tribal tattoos spiraling across his formidable biceps. Although his smile was warm and lovable, the muscle build he had was enough to make my knees quiver with attraction and downright terror.
I couldn’t be one-upped, innocent though I was. I worked very hard on my makeup and hair, trying to make it look as though I took the picture on the spur of the moment; I’m not sure that came through. I clipped my long brown hair back and put in contacts, trying to lose the bookworm look. My freckles showed through fine, but I went a bit heavy on the eyeliner trying to make myself look more mature. Okay, I was trying to look sexy for Tomcat. Part of me was deeply interested in someone who liked to whip people on a regular basis.
After the infamous photo swap, the nature of our discussions changed. It shifted away from BDSM and into our lives, what we did at work, who we argued with, how hard it was to grow up in our respective households. And frankly, the sexual tension was building up to an all-time high. I quickly discovered that not only was Tomcat excellent at sarcasm, he was also amazingly good at flirting. Which was something I have very little practice in, to say the least.
Our first Skype conversation practically ended in cyber-sex. Tom had a deep, gruff, British-accented voice, and oh God I would have jumped off a cliff to hear that voice keep talking. In turn, my voice got higher and squeakier and his voice got lower and smoother as we alternatively got nervous and relaxed with each other. I found I was okay at flirting so long as I could hear the tone in his voice, and before too long I had switched on my webcam and was showing him what I looked like without a shirt on.
Did I mention I am incredibly stupid and brash when it came to Tom?
And it was only natural escalation.
Tom said: I’d like to meet you.