Her heart beating furiously, she stood at the door where she had just tentatively knocked.
A single lamp threw its light onto the narrow little street, where she waited in excitement for her entry.
She chewed nervously on her gum.
She thought how long ago it was.
A year, approximately.
Wow, they had not seen each other for a long time.
But she had thought of him many times.
Someone was talking to herself and she heard the door being unlocked.
There he stood.
She found that he had barely changed in all that time. He had got some grey hair, but it looked great on him.
“Hello!” sounded the cheerful greeting. She knew he was as nervous as she was, after all, she had known him for a while. She greeted him with a smile and stepped into the dark corridor. He turned on her light so she could take off her jacket and ran ahead into the living room. She put off her winter jacket, bag, and scarf, took off her shoes, and followed him. She had been here often enough to know her way.
Along the way, she feverishly considered how to cover up the traces of the night. She was lucky, it was winter, and that made her easier. But every now and then there would be situations in which she could not hide behind scarves, sweaters and jackets. But she did not want to spoil the joy, it was so long ago that she had come to enjoy the pleasurable pain.
“Wine?”
He held out a glass and she grinned.
He knew her weaknesses, in many ways.
They drank together the whole bottle empty, talked, laughed a lot, and at some point, they laid closely entwined with each other.
As her heart jumped ecstatically, she held herself back, to keep her emerging feelings in check. There were a lot of emotions longed for this evening, but love was definitely out of place here. He’d let her feel that fact often enough, every time, and she’d often wondered why she ever went to him every time he needed her to live his dark, aggrieved dreams.
The reason was simple: she wanted to be used by him, whether he loved her or not. His job was to give her physical and mental pain of lust. And in that respect, he was close to perfection.
The initial tenderness quickly changed.
He grabbed her wrists, handcuffed her, then did the same with her feet. With a racing heart, she waited for the collar. She felt good for a long time. Full of anticipation, she longed for what was coming.<
Then he started.
He devoted himself with perfidious precision to each of her nipples and did not stop until she thanked him without screaming and crying for the pain he inflicted on her. So, he did that with several parts of her body, sometimes with her hand, sometimes with a whip. In the end, when she was just a whimpering, moaning, aching something, he sternly asked her:
“What do you feel?”
When she did not answer him immediately, he roughly grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look him in the eye. His eyes were cold and empty.
“What do you feel?” he whispered menacingly.
“I … I love you …” she sobbed. The fact that she had just said it again, even though she did not want to, made her cry even harder than already. He studied her calmly.
“You love me?” he repeated softly. She nodded shakily.
“And that hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked in the same tone. Again, she nodded, while indulging in her pain and tears, and he untied her piece by piece.
When she regained her freedom, he gently pulled her close. They lay together for a long time without saying anything. The TV was quiet in the background, but they were much more busy caressing and kissing each other. She enjoyed this calm after the storm. It was always like that. Suffering and pain paired with infinite tenderness.
After a while, she knew she had to leave slowly. Reluctantly she got up, got dressed and packed her things. He opened the door for her and she stole one last kiss before stepping out into the darkness of the night. On the way home, she felt light as a feather, free and exhilarated. She was fizzing with happiness. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. The hurts would remind her of that day for the next few weeks. She always endured them with unbridled pride, even though she could not show them outwards.
She did not know if and when she would see him again, but that was out of her hands.
Only he can determine if and when…
**This text does not reflect, necessarily, ApartadoX opinion.
