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.