The following is fiction. Copyright is held by MasterThorne, Ó2000,2001,2002 All rights reserved. MasterThorne is the pseudonym of the owner of this page and can be reached at masterthorne@hotmail.com. . Use of this story, any excerpts or other content is prohibited without written permission of the author.

 

 

Danielle #1

 

My name is Danielle Elyse Grant. I changed my name once to get married and became Danielle Elyse Foster. That was the last time I ever gave up anything to someone who didn’t deserve it.  I’m thirty-two years old and divorced five years. I have no children unless you count the headstone of my infant daughter who died in childbirth when I was twenty-one. I don’t. Not anymore; I’m past that --way past it. These are my stories and they’ll come, one-at-a-time until I’ve said everything I need to say about who I am, where I’ve been and how I got where I am. I’m a submissive. I am not anyone’s slave. I chose sex as my vehicle of expression because its what comes most naturally to me.  I chose the role of submissive because I’m tired of being the one who has to be responsible, and I chose my Master because he understands all that and much, much more about me and life and living and the human condition. He understands my sex, my sensuality, my passions, my needs and my pain. As for bondage, domination, submission and masochism ( I replace sadism with submission for my own comfort), I chose these things after years of trying the vanilla flavors of relationships and finding them wanting. I need intensity. I need my emotions brought to a razor-sharp edge by my lover, and I won’t settle for anything less anymore. The lifestyle virtually guarantees my satisfaction, and that, Dear Reader, is what I have searched for my entire life. I needed a man who could love a bitch and love her hard…and I found one.

 

I remember when my sister first started experimenting with sex. I’d hide in the bushes outside her window on hot summer nights and watch the boys fumble with her. She was so in command of them, even at fifteen. Our father died when we were little and Mom used to be out with men a lot. Carrie would tell me, “If you stay in your room and don’t bother us tonight, I’ll cover for you with Mom when you need it, ok?” It never dawned on me back then that by the time I’d need her silence she’d already be long gone to me.

 

I remember the first real ‘man’ that Carrie brought home. His name was Rick and he was twenty- nine with a long rocker’s body and jet black shoulder-length hair. Carrie was almost eighteen and she’d met him at a concert in Boston. I knew from the moment they walked in the door that Rick had the upper hand with my sister. I assumed it was his age, but I sensed more. She wasn’t confident. There weren’t any flippant comments or jokes about me – her ‘little’ fourteen year-old sister; just a look in her eyes I’d never seen, like some dangerous kind of clarity that deer must get at the moment they scent a hunter. I promised her that I’d stay to myself and keep quiet.

 

“No, I’d rather you play your music tonight…”she half-whispered to me, and hesitated like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. She just turned and took Rick by the hand. My eyes met his as he turned and I’d never seen eyes so dark. They had to be almost perfectly black.  That was the first time I ever felt my spine really go cold, and it was the first time I remember knowing that I liked the feeling. In my room, I put the radio on instead of a tape, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it ending before I got back inside. Then, I waited until Carrie and Rick were sure to be settled in and preoccupied with each other before I opened my window and slid outside into the night.

 

I love hot nights. I love the incredible din of all the creatures screaming out their mating calls; crickets, cicadas, frogs, night-birds.. I love the way the humidity seeps into my pores and everything feels moist and rich and smells so much stronger than at any other time. Steamy hot nights are pure orgies of nature. I crept around the side of the house and climbed the tree outside Carrie’s window. We couldn’t afford air conditioning back then, so I knew she’d have her curtains open and I knew too, that she lit candles before she turned the lights off when she was with a lover. I could lay my body out over the limb just outside her window and inch myself forward on my hands and breasts and thighs until their torsos were in full view.  On dark, dark nights like that one, the candlelight rendered their bodies in rich golden tones. They moved inside a camera’s lens to me and I took mental photographs that stay with me even now.

 

By the time I got into my position, they were already naked. The beads of sweat glistened off their bodies and Carrie’s flowing blond hair was matted and twisted around her shoulders where Rick’s hands held it in his grip. His body lay over her’s in a twist of arms and legs and he was working at the nipple of her far breast with his mouth…pulling it upward with his teeth, and I heard a low squeal from Carrie. She said something to him and he rose over her. I saw him reach down beside the bed and bring something up from the floor…some sort of scarf. He took her hand closest to the window and tied her wrist to the bedpost.  I saw her say something to him and he paused. He seemed to settle beside her and I saw him take her cheek in his hand. He spoke to her for almost five minutes…slowly, calmly and with her one hand bound above her head, but her other hand free. She could still fight; I thought…still stop whatever was going on, if she wanted. I watched her head nod occasionally.

 

Finally, I watched Carrie’s free hand float up near the opposite bedpost of her own volition.  I saw Rick find something else and tie her wrist as he had the other. Then, I watched his naked body move deliberately around the bed, locating bindings where he could until her ankles too were splayed out and secured to the posts of the bed.  Carrie wasn’t being forced. She was assenting to this, and I could tell that Rick was talking to her as he moved. I watched him cover her eyes with a scarf-blindfold and then pause again as he sat down on the bed beside her. I was watching more intently now than I had ever watched my sister with anyone before, and inside me, Carrie ceased to exist as my sister. I felt my body move into her’s. I felt the scarves at my own wrists and ankles. I felt the sheets beneath my flesh and the vibrations of Rick’s words shimmer across my own naked skin. I closed my eyes as my nipples hardened against the barrel of tree-trunk beneath me, and I felt the warm dampness spreading into my panties and jeans. I pressed my thighs tighter against the hard trunk between them, and felt Rick rising inside me. I watched for an hour until I couldn’t take it anymore. Under the bushes below my window I sank into the soft, wet heat of the grass and made myself cum twice with my fingers before I could go back into the house. I didn’t sleep well.

 

 That night, I saw Carrie give up her control – or rather, have it taken from her, and I saw what it was to be a woman totally exhausted by her lover; completely used, controlled, and without will a will of her own. It was the night that lit the fire of submission in my body. It would be years until I was able to feel it first-hand, but that was hardly the last night I spent in my perch outside Carrie’s window…or many other windows for that matter. From age fourteen until I was sixteen, I would study couples everywhere I went in town. I’d try to imagine what they were like together in the privacy of their own bedrooms. At night when Carrie and Mom were out and I was alone, I’d slink through the neighborhoods to other windows, seeking more voyeuristic experiences; and I found them, but only the most dominant scenes would draw me back to those same windows. In two years, I had a laundry list of over a dozen homes I visited in my nightly rounds. When my first boyfriends stumbled their way through their first sexual overtures with me, they had no way of guessing what my expectations already were or why they failed me so pathetically.

 

Sex happened. I was willing and open to it far beyond what any of my boyfriends ever considered, but I hadn’t yet learned how to communicate the darker side of myself, and I didn’t want to have to explain where I’d learned what I had. When I got pregnant by Greg, I told myself to put those things away and be a mommy and a wife and eventually, I’d get what I wanted from the man I was ‘supposed to’, but Greg was young and self-involved and bitter at having lost his youth. You can’t trap a man into wanting you – or a woman, as I would find out later. When the baby died, so did our marriage and so did any misconceptions I had about what I really felt. I was more emotionally raw for that year than I had ever been, but I contacted something so deep and so essential within me that I vowed to be faithful to that…to me. I have been. In the years since, I have made my needs clear to my lovers. I am demanding, but once I find someone who I can trust and they show me real power – real strength – I let go, and there are no limits. I submit, and I give myself over totally as the precious gift that I am; yielding, supple, sensual and fully satisfying to my Master or Mistress. David holds me now. He is my Master, and I trust in him to remain so. If not, that will be another story.