Black light obsessed, p.5
Black Light: Obsessed, page 5
My chest is light. My heart thuds with excitement, with the need to have her here right now, naked, posing for me on the floor of my dungeon. I want to see her smooth skin in the dimly lit space where I can bend her to my will.
Moments later, I’m pulling into the garage and killing the engine. When I look at my phone once more, there waiting for me is a photo. Exactly as I requested and my cock thickens in my slacks.
She’s slim. Her breasts are just about a handful, and her skin is white as snow. Porcelain. Just the thought of marking her makes my dick throb with want and need. She knows what’s coming next. When I hit send, I smile once more.
Roisin
Good girl. x
I’ve been reading those same two words for the last eight hours. He sent them to me last night after I’d responded with my photo he’d asked for. Since then, I haven’t heard from him. Needless to say, work has been difficult. I can’t concentrate. He has been running through my mind. I still have no idea what he looks like, but deep down I feel this connection. A pull to a man I’ve never met face-to-face.
Staring at the blank screen before me, I watch the cursor blink. On. Off. On. Off. I recall his website, the image gallery that sat there in front of me as if taunting me. Each image beautiful in its darkness, but also offering a glimpse of something light, something freeing.
My phone vibrates with a message and I know immediately it’s him.
Do you have a full-length mirror?
Frowning, I tap out a yes and hit send.
Today, I want you to send me another photo. This time, it will be in your bedroom. You’ll turn off all the lights, then have two candles on either side of your kneeling form. No face, just head bowed, and you will be naked.
My heart races at the thought of sending him another photo. Last night was risky, I’d never done that before, but I’d asked him to show me this life and if I don’t leap in with both feet, I’ll never do it at all.
I type my response, but before I can hit send, another instruction comes from him.
I want you to go to La Perla this afternoon at 3pm. There will be an assistant by the name of Justine who will give you a dress. This is what you will wear on Friday if you choose to meet me. You will receive an email this evening from me for an event that I want you to attend. I want you in the black dress, along with a pair of black heels, four inches, nothing less. Your hair will be tied back into a low ponytail, and you will wear minimal makeup. Under your dress, you’ll be draped in soft black lace panties with a bra to match. If you cannot get yourself a matching set, then let me know and I’ll happily buy it for you. Am I understood?
My nerves are frayed by the time I reach the end of the message. I’ve always been nervous showing off my body because I’ve learned that men are bad. They do wicked things to pretty girls, when you’re unique, different. And as much as I believe Master K won’t hurt me, and we’ll meet in a public place, I still can’t damper the anxiety at another candid shot.
Last night it took all my courage to send the photo. I had swallowed down a shot of vodka before the time just to calm myself. But I couldn’t stay still, thankfully he wouldn’t have noticed it in the photo.
Another message vibrates on my phone and I know he’s waiting for a response.
Am I understood?
I haven’t offered my assent yet because I’m scared. Fear holds me in its feral grip. But, I swallow it down and nod to myself.
Yes, Sir.
I can’t help smiling when I read the words back to myself. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who’d give who I am so freely to another, but with him, there’s a commanding presence that makes me want to do it.
I don’t know what he looks like, but there’s a flurry of excitement in my stomach. Turning back to my computer, I start typing up the review for the latest crime thriller I’ve been meaning to do for days.
Once that’s sent off, I open my blog that’s been dormant for a year and click on the new post option. I want to say something, to write it out, and I find my fingers flying over the keys easily as I work.
Words pour from my heart, appearing on the white page before me as my fingers bleed on the keyboard. With every word, and with each sentence, I feel lighter. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it public, but I allow myself to purge the anger from my past onto the screen.
Holding onto the past has always held me back. I realize I’m no longer that girl. I’m a new woman, I’m Roisin, and I’m about to become some dark Dominant’s submissive. And even though that should scare the shit out of me... it doesn’t.
My body is still thrumming with excitement. There’s a storm raging within me, coiling in my stomach, tightening and threatening to strike at any moment. I know the moment it will is when I finally lay my eyes on the man who’s captured me.
Not yet with his camera, but with his words.
* * *
“So, tell me about this job she’s got you working on?” Greer questions, flopping onto the sofa beside me. My place is dimly lit, with candles on the fireplace, which has flames glinting in the wine glasses on the coffee table before us.
“It’s this elusive photographer. The picture I sent you last night,” I tell her, watching the recognition on her expression. “He takes them of these women who are naked and bound.” I realize as I explain this, my voice is wistful. When I drop my gaze to the sofa, I twirl the material of the cushion between my fingers.
“And nobody knows what he looks like?”
Shaking my head, I reach for my drink. Lifting it to my lips, I take a long sip. The berry flavors of the red wine zing along my tongue, and I wonder what he likes to drink. Does he prefer beer, perhaps whiskey? I’ve been on edge all day. When I got the dress earlier, I couldn’t wait to try it on. As soon as I got home, I slipped the material over my head and stared at my reflection, not recognizing myself. The sleek material is beautiful, stopping just above my knee. With the small scoop neckline, it only offers a small peek at my cleavage.
“What if he’s some freaking pervert?” she asks, snapping me from the memory of how I felt wearing the gift he’ll see on me tomorrow.
“I just think there’s more to the story. To his story,” I say, meeting her questioning gaze. Needless to say, the thought crossed my mind as well. But then, why would these beautiful women pose for him? I mean, if he’s that weird, surely they wouldn’t trust him.
“Would you pose for him?”
Would I? Yes.
“Possibly. He makes women look beautiful. What woman do you know who wouldn’t want to look gorgeous? I mean, those images are just…” My words trail off because I can’t explain it. Deep down I know it’s not only the shadowed photos. It’s the rope, the cuffs, the blindfolds.
“They’re naked, Rosie, there’s no way around it. He’s a pervert, wanting to tie women up so they’re helpless.”
I know she’s only looking out for me, and it would be the same way for me if she were to tell me she was thinking about doing something that could put her in harm's way, but I know Master K won’t hurt me. I don’t know how, but I trust that someone who lives in that particular lifestyle is careful with his actions.
A memory of the name I was given by the family I grew up with flits through my mind. A ghost from the past, one that haunts me on a daily basis. As much as I attempt to quell the thoughts, they still rear up unbidden. Sinful devil child. They believed I was bad, that I was evil.
“Sometimes it’s what turns them on. There are people out there who have kinks most would shudder at. Who are we to judge them?” Gulping down my wine, I try to ignore the stare from my best friend. She’s burning a hole through me with those big blue eyes and I don’t want to look her way for fear of her seeing me. The real me that’s hidden behind my floppy sweatshirts and glasses.
“Rosie.” Her voice is tentative and I can no longer hide from her penetrating glare. “Are you? I mean, do you like that kind of thing?”
“What do you mean that kind of thing?” I question, my brows knitted together, furrowing at her in confusion. Her voice holds a slight hint of shock, but more so, it’s the disgust that hangs heavy in her words.
“I just didn’t know you liked being abused while having sex.”
“That is not abuse,” I bite back angrily, shooting up. I’m standing over the sofa, my body vibrating with anger and fear. For the first time in my life, I’ve been accepted, but now that she’s found out about what I prefer sexually, I’m once again the outcast. “It’s something that offers solace, calm, protection from abuse.” My voice falters as I try to explain to someone who doesn’t know what this lifestyle is like.
Granted, I haven’t experienced it fully, but I’ve read enough to know there is no abuse in it. There’s a beauty in the trust offered to a Dominant. I know what abuse is. I’ve lived through it.
There’s an ache in my chest, reminding me that not everyone will understand. I don’t care what people think of me, but for my best friend to judge me so harshly when all I wanted was support is painful to come to terms with. It’s vastly different to the everyday person on the street.
All my life I’ve dealt with abuse of some sort. Whether it was at the hands of a foster father who was too touchy, or a man of the cloth who decided to use his religion to show me God’s way. I never had a way of fighting back when I was younger, but this time, I have a choice. I won’t let anyone debase me anymore.
“I didn’t mean… I…” Greer’s voice is small, stalling my thudding heart. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. And I don’t know much about it. Only what I’ve heard.”
“There’s nothing wrong with submitting yourself to someone, if you trust them. I’ve never told you about my past, well… the stuff I’ve been through makes being spanked by someone far less abusive. And it allows me the control to say no when I feel it’s too much.”
Her big eyes meet mine. There are tears glistening in them as she reaches for me. Pulling me into her arms, she holds me close and for the first time in a long while, I allow someone to care for me. Even though I haven’t gone into detail about my teen years, I’ve offered her small snippets of the violence I’d witnessed. The pain of my past is something I’ve hidden for so long, not because I feel guilt, but I don’t want to see pity when someone looks at me.
“I want to know, Rosie. We’ve been friends for a year now,” she starts, nudging me gently to open up, but I can’t. Not right now. I feel frayed, as if someone’s taken the thread that held me together and tugged.
My mind flits back to him and I realize, while I was talking to him, I didn’t feel the pain of my past, but an excitement for my future. This is what I want. I do want to learn from him, to allow him to teach and heal me. And somehow, I know he will.
“I can’t talk about it right now, Greer,” I tell her, sitting up. I take in her expression. I half expected pity, but there’s none. “I want to try this.”
“I just don’t understand why having someone tie you up and slap you around is what you need,” she says and I’m once more on my feet.
“I think it’s time for you to leave. I can’t fight with you right now.”
She shoots up, watching me intently. “I’m not fighting. I just want you to think about it. I mean, how can a man want that?”
“Greer, please,” I start. “I don’t need your judgment.”
Her mouth falls open, shock written all over her face. “I’m not judging. I just think it’s stupid to want to give yourself to a man who gets off on hurting you.”
“He won’t hurt me.” My voice becomes shrill with frustration. I hear it. She hears it. “This is my choice, Greer. I can’t expect you to understand. Everyone has different tastes, needs, and this is mine. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“You know what, Rosie, if this is what you want, then go for it, but when he hurts you, don’t come running back to me because all I’ll do is tell you I told you so.”
I watch her grab her purse and make her way to the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she doesn’t look at me when she utters her goodbye and I’m alone in my condo once more.
I never expected people to understand this life. It’s not something you tell anyone. I’m not even sure what I was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.
Sighing, I head into the kitchen. Placing the glasses in the sink, I grab my phone from the kitchen counter and head into my bedroom. I need to take the photo for Master K.
Silently, I strip off, taking in my appearance in the mirror. Slim hips, small breasts, and my pale skin. My long red hair hangs in waves down my back as I move about the room to light the candles.
When I turn off the overhead light, I finally get into position, but I’m shaking like a leaf in an autumn breeze. My heart is galloping a million miles a minute when I think about showing him my body. About exposing myself to him. I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath, attempting to calm my erratic heartbeat.
I thought it might have been easier once I was here, kneeling, but it’s not. A newfound respect for women who do this flits through me. It’s not something I ever saw myself doing, but I know deep down it’s what I need and want.
I fill my lungs once more, calming the thoughts, clearing my mind. I focus on the burning in my core, that twisting of excitement that tightens low in my stomach. The tingles that shoot through me. Every nerve in my body is alight with a current so fierce, I glance up, meeting my reflection, my cheeks flushed.
“You can do this,” I tell myself. I want confidence in my body, in myself. I don’t want to grasp at it a few times here and there. I want to grip it in a viselike hold and keep it with me. I nod. “You’re beautiful. He will see it. He’ll see past the pain. Do it, Rosie. Do it.”
I sound crazy talking to myself, but it’s the only way I lower my head and finally allow myself to forget who or what I am and offer up the item he wants.
I hold my phone in position as he instructed and I hear the harsh click of the camera. When I bring the device in view to inspect the image, I stare at it for a long while before I open the app, go straight to his profile, and send.
Since we’ve been speaking, he hasn’t uploaded any new images to his account and I wonder if he’s holding out. Is he waiting to upload me? Will I be his new muse?
Once the photo is sent, I rise and pull on my sleep shorts and a tank top. The room is warm this evening thankfully. I leave my phone on the bed while I get freshened up. Brushing my teeth, I note the flush on my cheeks in the mirror above the sink.
Slipping into bed moments later, I keep my phone close by in case he responds. I don’t know if I want him to. I’m scared and shy. Nervous that he’s seen me like that, but also intrigued to know if he liked it. I want to know if he thinks I’m pretty, beautiful, or just another girl.
I close my eyes, attempting to calm my erratic thoughts. Sleep is just stealing me when I finally hear the familiar vibration on the pillow beside my head. I should leave it for morning, but curiosity gets the better of me and I grab my phone.
Perfectly submissive. Tomorrow, we play.
And with those words in mind, I lie back and stare at the ceiling. Thinking back to Greer’s reaction earlier, I wonder if she’ll come around. If she’d even just listen to me, or give my feelings a chance.
Since moving here, she’s been the only person I could really talk to. But now I feel as if she’s closing herself off to me as well. If only life were easier. And if only people were more understanding of others’ feelings and needs.
I close my eyes, hoping my best friend will accept my choices.
Kian
The place I’ve called home for a while beckons as I pull up to the sleek gates of Runway West. There’s another secret entrance for those who prefer stepping directly into Black Light, but I enjoy people watching as I walk through the main club.
It’s the only place I can let go of all the stress of my job. And as I enter the secret club deeper inside the mansion, I can enjoy the scenes being played out. And every now and then, I find myself taking a submissive and devouring her body like she craves so much.
When my ex-wife walked out, I was lost. I didn’t know what to do. That’s when my partner invited me to join him. There is no way of knowing this place exists since it’s in the basement of Runway, but for a select few, the scenes that await within are lascivious and unapologetic.
The car winds up the tree lined driveway toward the club. Between the tall trees, it appears as if it’s a hidden treasure. Only those who are privileged enough to know about it can find the gem amongst the stones. About half way up the drive, I turn left down the almost hidden path that will take me to the lot where I need to be.
The mask that sits on the seat beside me is plain black. The theme for the evening is a masquerade. I’ve never been one to attend these because I find them tedious, but meeting the saucy little vixen who’s been writing beautiful, erotic words to my photos has me intrigued. I want her to come. To see what she’s missing out on. The pleasure I can bestow on her.
When I found her name, checked her background, I found the history of the two homes she was thrown into. She will soon know I’ve delved myself into her sordid background.
Roisin Nolan.
The girl who had been raised by a pastor and his wife until the age of sixteen. I don’t know what happened exactly, but she was moved to a second foster home—not long after her birthday—where she spent two years until she turned eighteen and ran away.
She became a missing person that nobody looked for because she was alone in the world. But somehow, after the hardship she’d experienced, she has made a name for herself working for Plush Publishing. I sent her an invite to see if she’d actually take our flirting further than direct messages via our social media accounts.
