Surrender, erotic fiction by Greta Stone

Surrender Part 2

Part 2

Sexy erotic D/s fiction. Sexually explicit, obviously. *smirk* Enjoy.

{3880 words}


If you missed Part 1, check it out.

He’s still sitting behind me with his knee between my legs. With my panties tied over my eyes, I’m hyper aware of his breath on my fingertips. He slides his hands over my ass, thumbs settling beneath each cheek. His grip is firm, solid. When he touches me, he really touches me. Like he needs me. And I want to give him every little thing he desires.

When he speaks now, his tone is gentle, coaxing. “Hands up, please. I want to look at you.”

I could melt into him, find the perfect curve of his chest to fill, inhale his scent, and savor him wrapped around me, compressing me. I could spend all night there. But he gave me a command and I’m ready to behave now.

Bending my elbows, I press my thumbs between my shoulder blades and try not to think about the curve of my belly and the girth of my thighs. My shoulders ache in the awkward position, but I’ll hold it without complaining. He deserves this at the very least. He cares for me and finds the best ways to please me when I don’t even know myself.

The only sound for a moment is the shift of his thumbs rubbing over the soft skin at the crease between my thigh and ass. “You are so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I soak up the praise until I feel weightless. Whimpering, I  press back into his hands. With a growl, he slides his thumbs away and bites the tender spot beneath my cheek. I clench. I need him everywhere at once, hard against my soft, rough against my smooth.

Taking his time, he slides his tongue between my thighs, so close to where I need him. Warm and wet, leaving a chill in its wake. I squirm as he drags it across the same spot he just bit.   

He digs his hands into my soft flesh. “Patience, pet,” he warns.

“Sorry, Sir.” I’m the opposite of patient. Even with my wrists cuffed, I want to spin around, shove him down, and impale myself on his erect cock, glaring down at him as I have my way, daring him to stop me.

But I’m the submissive and he’s my Dom. So I try to be patient. For him.

“Step forward.” He nudges me then holds me until I’m steady.

I relax my arms back down behind me and roll my shoulders to relieve some of the aching. The bed creaks and his shirt tickles my forearms. With one hand, he wraps all of my hair and slowly pulls it to one side, twisting my neck, careful not to disturb my panties blindfold. I can sense the change in his tone before he’s even spoken. He’s rumbling. I can’t tell if he’s heating up for action or if I’ve displeased him.

In a low tone that I can feel through my chest, he whispers in my ear, “Why did you put your arms down, kitten? Did I ask you to?”

Shit. He didn’t. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

I begin to bend them back into their proper position, but my bound hands bump the front of his pants. I freeze. He’s hard as a fucking rock and it shoots aching need straight to my groin.

I’m tempted to cup him in my hand and knead him until he squirts in my palm. I grin.

“Do not touch me unless I tell you to,” he commands.

He knows me too well.

“Yes, Sir.” I do my best to wipe the grin off my face but I can’t stop thinking about bringing him to his knees.

“Behave,” he warns.

I flatten my hands against myself. “I am! I’m not touching—”

He bites the back of my neck hard enough to make me jump and tightens his grip on my hair. “Listen. Don’t speak.”

He’s hot as fuck when he commands. He knows exactly what he wants, what we both want. And I’d be smart to let him lead us there, but I need to clear things up, let him know I mean to behave. “Sorry, Sir. I wasn’t trying to—”

“I. Know.” He tugs my hair and presses me to my knees. “Kneel.”

My toes jam into his boots as I fumble into position: kneeling tall, my back to him, heart racing. I clench, painfully aware of the emptiness inside me where he should be.

He taps the outside of my bare foot with his boot to tighten up my position. With his hand still wrapped around my hair like a leash, he shifts, tilting my head as he moves. His thighs press to the back of my shoulder blades. He curls his other hand around my throat and slides it up to my chin, forcing my head back, crown against his groin.

Low and quiet, he asks, “What did I say?”

“Listen. Don’t speak, Sir.” It’s hard to get the words out with my throat stretched tight. I’m uncomfortably bent, lost in darkness, and raging with thirst for him. I want to suck on him, on anything, to soothe myself. I open my mouth, searching.

He presses his thumb in and I latch on, petting it with my tongue, sucking. He hums his approval. Letting go of my hair, he finds one breast and strums his fingers across my nipple, each catching on it and hardening it. I moan and press my thighs together.

“Good girl,” he whispers, pulling his thumb free. “Now let’s address your transgressions.”

He lets go of me.

I’m lost without his touch. Bound and blind with no anchor but the carpet beneath my knees.

His boots thud behind me, to my side, in front of me. A shadow passes over my hooded eyes. The creak of the cabinet door. Shuffling, wood sliding against wood. I’m clenched and halfway to an orgasm by the time the soft leather tip of his crop grazes the outside of my thigh.

“Up tall, kitten. On your knees.”

I straighten. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He drags the crop up over my hip, dipping at my belly button, then dragging it up and over my other hip. “This is going to hurt. Do you understand?”

Breathless, I nod.

He gives me a quick warning swat on the hip. “I asked you a question. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” With the anticipation of his next strike, my focus fixes on his location. Nothing exists outside this room, his voice, and the crop in his hand.

“Good girl.” He releases the clamp between my wrist cuffs. “I’m freeing your arms. Keep them by your sides. Do not move them. I know this will be difficult for you but I’m positive you can do it. Do you understand what I expect from you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer quickly. The cuffs are thick and bulky against my thighs.

He drags the crop over my arm, around to my ass, and circles there. “I’m going to swat you once for each offense, three total. Do you understand?”

Three offenses and I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done wrong. Damn my memory. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” He traces the curve of my ass with the crop. “You look sexy as fuck, kitten.”

My mind does somersaults between his reprimands and approval. I’m both bad and good. I’m disobedient yet exactly what he needs. I’m sexy. I let a smile form on my lips. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, when should you touch me?” He draws circles on my cheek.

Right. There was that. “Only when asked to, Sir.”

The crop disappears and whooshes briefly before it cracks against my ass, leaving a focused sting. He drops his voice an octave. “That’s one. When will you speak?”

“Only when asked a question.” I want to rub the spot but know better.

Another whine, this one longer, the smack harder in the same spot. It burns. I clench my ass and curl my toes.

“That’s two.” Without warning, he cracks me a third time in the same spot. “But how will you address me?”

My ass is on fire now and it’s hard to catch my breath. “As Sir, Sir.” I really want to rub it. He’s made it harder not to now that my hands are free. I tighten them into fists at my sides, then release and stretch my fingers. But I do not touch the burn.

“Good girl.” He taps the crop between my thighs from behind. “Spread.”

I obey, reluctant to open such a delicate spot to vulnerability.

wiz and crack just below one cheek. I jump.

He raises his voice. “How will you respond to my commands?”

“With a ‘Yes, Sir.’…Sir.”

“Good girl. Best start remembering that, kitten, or you’ll regret it.” His boots pad against the carpet again as he walks around me, dragging the crop over my other arm, to my belly button, and down several inches to the height of the curve between my legs.

I’m shaking with adrenaline and need and anticipation. I want him to stop what he’s doing and fill me, fondle me until I come. But I love this more than anything else. I love the power he holds over me, the absolute control of my every thought and of my body. He owns me. There is nothing for me to think about or decide on or ponder. There’s just him and me and the next place his crop will land.

He pauses. “Kitten, breathe.”

I inhale and exhale.

He slides the crop down until it grazes my tender labia. My heart drops to my stomach. He wouldn’t. While he holds it there, I can feel my pulse in every inch of flesh surrounding his crop, an electric current from him to me.

He slides it back up to my clit. I bite my lips.

“Lastly, when will you argue with me, pet?”

“Never, Sir.”

Thwack.

At first, it tingles more than hurts.

But I fold forward, squeezing my thighs together against my need.

He gives me no time to either enjoy or suffer from it. “Up, pet. Stand please.” He helps me to my feet. “At ease.”

I stand with even weight on both feet, not slouching but not standing tall and straight. I let my arms hang by my sides, leaving my body open to him. Even though he hasn’t asked me to pose a certain way, I still keep his wishes in mind.

He holds me still with one firm hand on my shoulder. The other he slides down over the curve of my ass and between my legs, cupping me from behind, his wrist and forearm pressing between my cheeks. I can’t help but move against him.

His breath falls hot at the base of my neck. “So eager.” He tightens his grip. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you inside me, Sir.” Heat flushes up my neck to my face. It’s a selfish request and not the thing I wanted most a few minutes ago. I wanted to pleasure him.

I can’t think when he’s touching me.

He closes his warm, soft lips over my ear lobe and presses one finger hard against my clit. “What part of me do you want inside you?”

He knows what I want. And he knows I hate saying it.

“Just…you,” I offer meekly, squirming under his grip.

“Say it,” he rumbles.

“I want your dick inside me.” My whole body flushes hot, skin prickling.

“Good girl.” He pulls his hand away and gives my bottom a promising smack.

I’m reeling somewhere on the edge of reality as he unties my panties from over my eyes. I blink in the dim light.

He cups my face with one hand and leans closer, stopping short of a kiss. I haven’t been blindfolded for long but I still lose my breath at the site of him. He has the kind of face I could lose myself in. Every angle, every crease, every flaw. So perfect. And mine. I want to steal a kiss from him, take his whole mouth and have my way with it.

He smirks. “Is there something you want, kitten?”  

My gaze drops to his lips. “I really want to kiss you, Sir.”

The smirk disappears. “Please do.”

I don’t wait to thank him. Leaning in, I press my mouth to his, inhaling his heady scent. His lips are deliciously warm and soft. His skin is unusually smooth.

He’s shaved for me!

I dive back into the kiss with renewed fervor. Our heads tilt in unison, mouths open, fitting together perfectly. Tongue to tongue, teeth scuffing, until we’re breathless and settle into a slower rhythm. I could kiss him all night.

He draws away, and I cling to his bottom lip with my teeth. Don’t go.

He groans as it stretches and releases. One brow shoots up. He’s grinning like the devil. “Biting? You know the deal.”

A bite for a bite.

He wraps his arms around me and we spin, the room whirling, and fall onto the bed. He lands heavy on top of me even though he catches himself. His weight roots me and I’m home. His legs pin mine and he hooks both of my cuffs, locking my hands over my head. Sliding his other hand down my arm and over my chest, he brushes my nipple with his thumb.

His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Now, where shall I take mine?”

[To be continued]


 

Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed, please comment and/or share.
I would be ever so grateful.
*curtsy*

Surrender, erotic fiction by Greta Stone

Surrender

Part 1

Sexy erotic D/s fiction. Sexually explicit, obviously. *smirk* Enjoy.

{2337 words}


With four bags of groceries over one arm and a jug of milk in my hand, I shove through the door and kick it closed behind me. My mouth waters at the smell of freshly baked pumpkin pie until I spot a Pumpkin Spice candle on the hall table. Three more candles flicker between the front door and kitchen. Every room is lit and the heat’s been turned up.

He wants me naked.

“Baby?” I drop the bags on the counter and exhale at the relief. “Are you here?” I know he’s here.

He steps into the doorway of his office, leans against the frame, and levels a gaze at me. It’s smoldering and speaks volumes. He’s wearing my favorite snug jeans, black boots, and a long sleeved T pushed up on his forearms.

My stomach growls.

Postponing his unspoken request, I bustle between the fridge and stove. “Will you put the cold groceries away so I can start dinner?”

“Dinner can wait,” he says, his voice deep, tone firm. I want to drop to my knees on the linoleum floor and suck him while he grips the oven handle for balance.

I cock my head and try to raise one brow, which I’ve never been able to do. The corner of his mouth quirks up at my attempt but he recovers, crossing the room purposefully.

“Baby, I’m hungry,” I say, backing myself against the counter to buy time. If he touches me, I’ll cave. “My meeting went straight through lunch—”

He’s a step away.

“—and I had to fire Aaron today—”

He takes my face in both hands.

“—and then grocery shopping in the snow—”

The heat of his lips on mine and the grip of his fingers on my jaw ignites me. I welcome his tongue, tasting and caressing it with my own. The kiss is lips and skin and teeth. It’s him and the way he makes me feel wanted. Needed.

I slide my hands around his waist, under his shirt, and up his back, squeeze him against me. I need you too.

My stomach growls and I swear it echoes from my open mouth to his. I grin, inadvertently blocking his tongue with my teeth.

“I’m sorry,” I say against his lips. “I really am starving.”

He groans, rolling his forehead against mine. “Half an hour.”

“That’s barely enough time to cook, nevermind eat. An hour.”

He raises one brow quite successfully. My stomach flips. His warning is one I’m quite familiar with, but it doesn’t stop me from glaring back.

He compresses me between himself and the counter, his belt digging into my belly, and his warmth against me from chest to thigh. “45 minutes, pet. Final offer.”

I fucking love him in Dom mode. And I’ll worship him the way we both need…in 45 minutes. Until then, we are equals. And I plan to take advantage.

“45 it is, Sir.” I attempt to push him away, knowing it will instigate. “For now, will you please put the groceries away?”

“Watch your attitude.” He pins my arms behind my back, his fingers wrapped tight around my wrists. Tucked into the vice grip of his arms and chest, I’m right where I want to be. The only way he could get closer is to get inside.

I deliver a slow grin, pleased with myself for effectively goading him. “I will. In 45 minutes.”

He rumbles a low hum, tightens his grip, and takes his time examining my cleavage pressed between us. “I’m tempted to cancel our deal, drag you into the bedroom right now, and show you what final offer means.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grins. “But I won’t. Because I don’t want you hungry tonight. I need your full attention.”

He lets me go and smacks my ass.

We eat dinner in a flury and he sends me off to our bedroom to get ready. I strip, tossing my clothes over the back of a chair. He’ll expect to find me kneeling at the foot of the bed, hands on my thighs, back tall. I need to fold my clothes into a neat pile the way he likes, but the bed hasn’t been made yet. With a tug, I square the blankets to the headboard. One fluff for each pillow, just the way he likes.

I pick up three socks from the floor and walk to the hamper, toss them in. The light hits my dresser, catching my eye. A thin film of dust covers the surface and then my finger as I swipe.

The door swings open and he halts.

Oh, shit. I drop to my knees where I am and lower my head farther than usual. “Sorry, Sir.”

This isn’t like back in the kitchen. During play, I’ve agreed to submit to him. Failing to do so now is a much graver sin.

The door clicks shut and he pads across the carpet toward me, each step slow and deliberate. By the time the hard toe of his boot bumps my bare knee, I’ve conjured up all sorts of punishments, both thrilling and troublesome. I welcome them, the heart-racing, skin-tingling suspense of what he will do next.

He sets his hand gently on top of my head. “I’m pleased that you’re repentant, but it won’t change your punishment. Understand?”

I study the stitched seam over the arch of his boot while my mind wanders. How will he punish me? The crop on the tender part of the back of my thighs? The paddle square across my ass? Orgasm deprivation? I clench in anticipation.

I trust that he won’t hurt me beyond the threshold we’ve discovered together. The journey has been as exciting as the play. I haven’t found any other way to feel closer to him than this. My Dom, my love.

My scalp tingles as he slides his hand through my hair. I lean into his hold, yearning. I could purr and nuzzle him for need of his attention. More contact. I reach for him, slide both hands around his legs to the backs of his thighs. I want you.

He inhales deeply, and I want to bury my face in the front of his pants, open them with my teeth and—

He tugs my hair. “Look at me, pet.”

I do. He glares down, disappointed, and it sets my chest on fire. That look could send me crawling over hot coals without a second thought. That look stirs rebellion and obedience in me. That look tells me more about his love than any other. What is it about that look?  

His voice drops an octave. “Hands by your sides, please.”

I obey, regretfully removing them from his thighs, and blink up at him.

He opens his mouth to speak but pauses. “God, you’re sexy right now.”

My lungs fill with a sudden deep breath and I smile. I’m never as beautiful as I am in his eyes. I would stay here all day just for him.

“Doesn’t mean you’ll escape punishment.” He smirks. “Got it?”

The disobedience comes easy to me but the punishment does not. “Yes, Sir.” I study his boots again.

He corrects, lifting my chin.

“Tell me why I’m going to punish you.”

I don’t like to disappoint him and I can’t look him in the eye when I have. But he makes me and I’m not happy about it.

“Because you love whipping my ass red,” I say with snark.

The single raised eyebrow again. “Excuse me?”

My heart skips a beat but I glare at him, unflinching.

He digs his fingers into my hair, gripping tight, stinging my scalp. Two octaves lower now if that’s possible. “Kitten…”

I blink once. “Yes?”

He clenches his jaw. “You are very fucking sexy but don’t push it. Answer my question.”

I bite my lip to buy time while I consider ‘pushing it’ or submitting. I think I’ve pushed enough for now. Suppressing a sigh, I say, “I disrespected you by not being in position when you arrived.”

“And?”

I try to lower my head to escape his intense gaze but his grip on my hair doesn’t budge.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “And I touched you without your permission.”

“Yes. And you made me wait.” He releases me and walks over to the chair I slung my clothes over. “Not to mention this mess.” Shifting my shirt and jeans, he finds my panties, turns, and levels a searing glare at me.

I escape his gaze again, biting both lips. My mind sorts through all the possible ways I can beg for his mercy. I’m not afraid of the punishments. I trust him. But I want to do exactly what he wants before he asks. And he likes it when I beg.

“Close your eyes.” He walks behind me so I can’t see him anymore, which shouldn’t matter if I obey his command. But I don’t. Because I want to see what he’s doing.

“Don’t.” He spreads his hand over the top of my head and turns it back before I’m able to get a peek over my shoulder. Holding me there, his fingertips squeeze my skull and I hear the reprimand loud and clear. He’s reaching his max tolerance for my misbehavior. He needs me to obey now. He needs me to submit to him, to yield, to surrender wholly.

Behind me, I hear fabric ripping, then the clink of metal on the wood dresser. Fabric slides over my eyes. I can smell myself on them, my panties. I’m reeling with abashed desire as he knots them at the back of my head.

A breeze blows against my back.

“Don’t move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” I hold still, kneeling, hands on my thighs, back straight and tall. I’m blind and naked and completely at his mercy, as excited as I am anxious.

The door swooshes open and the room is quiet for a long time. I should be contemplating my errors and my submission to him, the reasons this dichotomy is important to me, to us. But I’m too excited to play. All I can think about are the ways I want to pleasure him, by doing as he asks and by touching him the way he likes. My thoughts drift to steamy daydreams.

When the door clicks shut, I hear the rattle of china, a tea cup on a saucer maybe. The air around me shifts with his movements, sending a wave of fresh soap and citrus toward me. I’m curious as hell what’s going on. A clink on the dresser next to me and the rattling stops.

He places his warm hands on my shoulders. “Recline.”

Following his guidance, I lean back until he stops me at a 45 degree angle.

“Hold there.”

Crap.

His metal belt buckle clinks, followed by the leather flapping through his belt loops. My skin prickles with anticipation, ready for the sting though not sure where it will land.

“Hands back.”

Oh? This is new.

I press my wrists together behind me, my belly and thighs already beginning to ache from the position. He slaps a thick padded leather cuff on each wrist and binds them together with a metal clip, the clink of solid, well-made materials resonating. A leather leash coils on the floor behind me, pressing into my toes.

“Open your hands.”

I’m not sure how when they’re behind me. Palms facing each other, I splay my fingers. The tea cup clatters. He corrects my hands palms up and places the teacup in them. It’s difficult to balance, but I manage.

“Three minutes. Do not spill this or I will be very disappointed.”

Three minutes? I can’t… I’ll never make it.

The leather belt falls limp across my thighs and I jump, the teacup clattering.

His fingers grip my chin and his voice hits so close I feel his words on my face. “If you spill, you will get the belt. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” My thighs burn and the china clatters as I shake. I don’t know where he is. I can’t hear him anymore. But the door hasn’t opened so he’s still in the room. Watching, I’m sure. I want to make him happy above and beyond what he expects. I want him to know that, despite my misbehavior, I am his. He owns me. And I will do anything he asks to make him happy.

I make a concerted effort to hold still and breathe through my time. The tea cup quiets as I pull myself together and find calm. The burning in my belly dissipates. I am an inanimate object yet thoroughly alive, breathing just to please my Sir.

He finally speaks. “Your time is done, pet.”

I hold it for ten more seconds to demonstrate my penitence. It feels like an eternity.

“Bring me the cup. Don’t spill it.”

He gives no acknowledgement of my extra effort. A part of me is crushed, but I carry on.

Still blindfolded, I rise to a standing position, the cup jiggling behind me, the leather leash slapping at my bare calves as I shift. If I’ve spilled, I can’t tell. I’m thoroughly exposed to him with my hands secured behind me but I stand tall, unashamed. My body is his—his toy, his treat, his tool.

The location of his voice tells me he’s sitting at the foot of the bed about three steps away. I take two confident steps then a third careful one. My toes meet the hard side of his boot.

Stepping in front of him, I turn my back and present the cup and saucer. No shenanigans. No snark. Just as he likes. He takes it from me without even a brush of our fingers. I hear him sip and set it down on a hard surface. I don’t move.

“Good girl.” His warm hands land on my bare hips. I want to face him and feel his forgiving arms around me.

I stay put.

He bumps one knee between my legs. “Spread.”

[To be continued]

Read Part 2 now.


 

Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed, please comment and/or share.
I would be ever so grateful.
*curtsy*

BDSM short fiction

White

Preface

If you’ve been following me at all, you know the sexy nature of my poetry. Here, I share (for the first time) a very short story of the same nature. Enjoy.

{996 words}


I sat in a lukewarm bath, bored and irritated. He’d texted me an hour earlier.

Him:
Run a hot bath and soak. Use a cinnamon & ginger bath bomb. Drink one glass of pinot noir. Await further instructions.

There was little I loathed more than confining myself to an uncomfortable, hard bin full of rapidly cooling water which made it impossible to either read a book (lest the pages curl with humidity) or watch my favorite show (lest the tablet fall into said water and it die.)

But I did it. For him.

When my phone buzzed on the tile floor, I lifted one dripping, wrinkly hand out of the murky, suds-free water and reached for a towel. 

Him:
Be downstairs in 30 minutes. Dress up. 3” heels or higher. No panties. Put your hair up.
Sit in the exact center of the white sofa in the lobby, ankles crossed, left over right.
I will arrive between 8:12 and 8:36.
You will wait there in that position.
You will be alone on the sofa.

Alone on the sofa? All of his instructions were in my control except for that. How the hell–

Him:
Do you have any questions?

I’d find a way.

Me:
No, Sir.

Him:
If you fail to fulfill my request, you’ll not be able to walk for a week.

My heart raced at the threat and promise. He’d done it before. And while a part of me longed for his fury, my ass, numb from the hard bottom of the tub, did not.

Me:
Yes, Sir.

Exactly 30 minutes later, I took my place in the center of the stretched white sofa in the ornate yet modern lobby. Room for two or three people stretched on each side of me. With only a few other people milling about, I took a refreshing breath. Maybe I wouldn’t have to fight anyone  off after all.

Sitting, I tugged the hem of my pencil skirt down just over the curve of my knees, crossed my 3” t-strap heels at the ankle, left over right, and tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear.

Twenty minutes later, at 7:52, the lobby began to fill up with couples in gowns and black bow ties. Nervous, I fiddled with my fingers in my lap. He wasn’t even due for at least another 15 minutes. What was his plan? And why were there so many people around?

At 8:07 a silver-haired man with a hefty girth sat beside me. The woman with him, thin and delicate, sat, too.

“Hello,” the man said with a gravelly voice and a nod.

“Hi.” I smiled but inside my stomach whipped up into a whirl. How would I get rid of them? I couldn’t be rude. I had to act quickly or they might get settled and stay.

“I’m so sorry but I’m saving these seats for a friend.”

The man scowled at me.

“…who has trouble walking the full distance from the door to the ballroom.” What the hell was I even saying? I wasn’t sure. But the man and woman stood and walked away.

The lobby was now packed. Fifty…or a hundred people stood about, waiting for something. Some balanced the thin stem of a wine glass between their fingers. Some held napkins with fancy hors d’oeuvres, though I could see neither a bar nor trays of food over the height of the crowd around me.

At 8:21 a beautiful young woman in a sparkling purple gown sat beside me.

“Hello!” 

She was too enthusiastic. Too excited. What did she know that I didn’t?

“Are you here alone, too?,” she said. “Thank God! We can stick together.”

Where were “we”? What was she talking about?

“I’m actually waiting for someone,” I said, wracking my brain for a way to get rid of her before he showed up. My ass throbbed in warning of my promised punishment.

Her shoulders sunk. “Oh. I guess I’m the only one then. I should have known better than to come to a wedding without a date.”

Wedding caught me mid-swallow, sending me into a coughing fit. He wouldn’t. We’re not… I sucked fruitlessly at the air, unable to catch my breath, sputtering and coughing.

We’d never been in public together. Didn’t know any of the same people. Avoided all chances of pictures in order to prolong our privacy and the nature of our relationship.

The woman stared wide-eyed at me as my choking began to catch the attention of nearby onlookers.

It hit me then that I could use this to get rid of her. I pointed at my throat and exaggerated another cough. “Water,” I whispered.

Her brows shot up and she stood quickly. “Oh! Yes. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared through the crowd, parting it in her wake as I regained control of myself. With one last swallow, I raised my head, squared my shoulders, and caught his eye through the maze of people between us.

He paused, took note of the empty sofa beside me, and pulled half his mouth into a smile. Recovering himself, he strode straight toward me, wedding guests flowing out of his way as if there were some invisible force moving them.

When he reached me, he held out his hand, smiling. “Miss Adesso.”

I placed my hand in his and stood. “Mr. Burke.”

Tucking my arm under his and wrapping my hand around his forearm, he leaned in to kiss my ear, inhaling. “I could eat you right here.”

My neck and face flushed hot. Could everyone tell I was bare beneath my skirt?

He grinned as I squirmed.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“We’re going to a wedding.”

My eyes shot open. “Whose?”

“Don’t know. We’re crashing.” He leaned in to whisper. “And you’re going to come before we leave tonight.”


I’ve shared this story in full as it was originally written. If you’re interested in seeing more of Miss Adesso and Mr. Burke’s night, please persuade me to write it by commenting below. ~___^

Thank you for reading!

Me and a Gun: Fiction & Sexual Abuse Discussion*

The fiction piece below contains triggers.
Skip to discussion if you’d like to chat.

me and a gun fiction sexual abuse discussion Greta Stone

Me and a Gun

[Flash fiction]

The cold metal barrel pressed to the back of my neck. Pinned to the hood of a stranger’s car at the back of the mall parking lot, I struggled to breathe. Snot smeared from my nose and tears made the skin at my temple stick to the aluminum surface beneath me. My hair lay sprawled and tangled over my face, masking the real world on the other side—the world in bitter, cold, November darkness. My most intimate parts bare to the night, I squeezed my eyes shut tight. See no evil. See. no. evil.

Pressure from the barrel let up, but I stayed put as the rip of his zipper warned me of what would come next. The back of his hand brushed my bare thigh as he freed himself. I winced. It was coming, and it was going to be horrifying.

Dissociate, my mind told me. So I tried.

Somewhere in the distance beyond the van blocking us from view, two women chatted, the thud of car doors, an engine starting. I focused on those details. I focused on anything but him, my heart pounding so fiercely it drummed a rapid rhythm in my ears.

The bright parking lot lights, the alarm button on my car remote, the key I had lodged against the palm of my hand were all futile against his skillful attack. I should have run when he stepped up with a smile, when I politely smiled back while my instincts called Danger!, when I told myself not to overreact, when I didn’t want to be labeled a bitch.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I caved to compassion and lent him my phone, carelessly surrendering my wrist. With one slick twist, he flipped my fate.

The barrel returned to my neck now, heavier, colder from the night air.

My shoulders ached, arms numb as the zip-tie on my wrists chafed the skin beneath. He used his hips to jam me against the car. At the icy collision of bare thigh to metal, I recoiled. The gun barrel dug deeper into the soft flesh at the base of my skull, scolding me. I held still, obeying its command.

A brush, a breeze, a hard button pressed to my soft flesh. My insides burned as he ripped through me. I opened my mouth to scream but bit the hair that fell in instead. I willed him away, praying for a savior, a miraculous rising of the sun, a heart attack…for him or me, didn’t matter.

My thoughts stuttered, running off far, far away then ripping back to the present with every thrust of his hips. I must survive this. But why? Was it worth surviving?

My mind grew tired of running so it stayed right there with his heavy panting, the clink of my hoodie zipper, and the eery silence beyond our horrid bubble until he released himself inside of me, leaving a stain only I would see. Forever.


Let’s Discuss

Why would I write something so dark and horrid? Three reasons.

  1. I am a sexual abuse victim. I have endured multiple sexual abuse situations. I choose not to be loud about it, but it is an important topic to me.
  2. I’ve lived with depression for as long as I can remember, and it wasn’t until I started channeling the darkness into writing that I could function well in everyday life.
  3. Society sends us mixed messages when it comes to personal safety. This is the point I want to discuss today.

ground rules

There are two sides to every incident and every incident could play out in one of two ways. Let’s use the example from the story above. First, I need to clarify a few things.

Although it’s not explicitly stated in the story above, we’re going to assume that the victim is female. Yes, all of it could happen in reverse or with same sex or with any kind of person that lives. But this is the scenario I relate to. So this is what I’m writing.

For the sake of simplification (because this is going to get kind of complicated), I’m going to name the man from the story Lucas and the woman  Olivia. (2016’s top two names, although different sources quote different names.)

Okay. Still with me?

the real question Cell phone

So, Lucas approaches Olivia, asking for help. “My car died and my wife has my phone.”  *points over shoulder toward mall* “May I borrow yours to call someone?”

Olivia can do one of two things:

  1. Help Lucas by lending him her phone.
  2. Deny help and get away as fast as possible.

What does society expect Olivia to do?

That’s a good question.

“Baby, you don’t go around accusing innocent people.” ~Jake Houseman, Dirty Dancing

two-faced

It all depends on how the incident turns out. If Lucas is not a criminal, society will praise Olivia for helping (“What a kind and giving person you are!”) and shun her for denying help (“Don’t be such a bitch.”) If Lucas is a criminal, society will shun Olivia for helping (“Are you stupid? What were you thinking? You were asking for it.”) and praise her for running (“That was some quick thinking on your part. Saved your life!”)

Don't judge a person by appearanceThe problem is, Olivia  has no way of knowing if Lucas is a criminal or not when he approaches. The best attackers make themselves appear safe and non-threatening. And often the people who look tough and “criminal” are soft-hearted romantics. (Notice I said often, not always.)

So if Olivia doesn’t know what Lucas is, how should she respond?

The answer is, any fucking way she wants to in order to feel safe.

hold that thought

In the moment, there is no time to worry about what others will think of you or say about you. You must act on instinct. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t ignore it. And this applies to the long-term manipulations too. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t ignore it.

It’s that exact hesitation your attacker needs to make their move. With random acts of violence, it’s the pause before handing over the phone. Your attacker knows what society expects of you. He knows you don’t want to be labeled a bitch. He relies on that fact to trap you.

In long-term manipulations, it’s the pause while you recollect all the good things you know about the attacker that seem to disagree with that icky feeling you have that something just isn’t right. Again, he knows. He’s relying on the surety that you will not quickly dismiss all the good things you know about him. In fact, he has most-likely groomed you right into this position. (Read more about grooming here.)

don’t judge meSexual assault discussion

What it all comes down to is that so many attacks and incidents could be avoided if we didn’t stop to consider “What will people think of me if I falsely accuse him/make it clear I don’t like what he’s doing?”

Stop doing that. Personal safety first. No matter what.

And society, for your part, stop judging others period. Just stop.

Your turn

I would love to hear your thoughts on this. Have you experienced The Pause before? How did it turn out for you? What did others have to say about it? How do you feel about societal standards and how they play into sexual assault?

Talk to me.


All images in article are from free royalty free website pixabay.com.