The whip laid into Valerie’s back with a vengeance. Blood flipped off the end of the whip to create a splatter pattern on he wall behind the creature wielding the instrument of torture. More blood streamed down the nearly dead woman’s back from the open wounds on her back; more appearing each time the savage whip laid into her with a loud crack.
“Say it!” the demon raged, it’s high pitch voice shrill with anger.
“Never,” came the whispered answer, uttered by a throat too soar to scream in pain any more. “I’d trust her with my life.”
“We’ll see about that,” she raged, her face contorted in a strange combination of fear and anger. “Trusting me will cost you your life!”
As she spoke, the demon’s skin fell away to reveal a tall woman with scars covering her own back.
Francine Traline woke with a gasp, her body covered in sweat and her heart racing like a Ferrari. Rolling onto her back, tangling the covers even more than they were, she tried to calm herself with reminders that, “it’s just a dream, a nightmare.” It wasn’t surprising that this particular nightmare would come tonight. After all, this was the night; the night she learned if she could return to domination.
“Three years,” she thought to herself, “three long years of fear, hopelessness and therapy.”
It was three years since it had happened; since she’d savaged her best friend’s back during a scene and then tried to kill herself. It had taken one year before Francine had been able to forgive herself for the attack. Attack; Valerie hated that word. Valerie insisted, to this day, that is had been a consensual scene gone wrong; gone wrong because of the attack by Harv.
Three years ago, Francine had revealed her love of BDSM to her boyfriend, Harv, and that she was a Domme. He’d gone nuts and attacked her, leaving her beaten (and not that good beating subs like so well) and locked in the cabin. Valerie had rescued her physically, but not mentally. Francine had panic attacks at first, breaking into crying fits and nightmares at the drop of a hat. So desperate for relief, Francine had gone numb, feeling nothing. That numbness had concealed a smoldering rage that sought out expression.
At first, she’d sought that expression through pain of her own. She’d sought out a cutter, a woman who got her kicks by slicing subs with a knife. Actually, her knife designs were quite lovely on Francine’s breasts and thighs. The scars on her back, the result of a man called Painmaster, weren’t so. Painmaster believed in no safe words and no limits for his subs. Oh, he was honest and upfront about it when he was trolling; but he was quite willing to take a newby who agreed to more than they had any idea of. He deliberately went for blood on his victims. Francine, desperate to release and feel again, had sought him out and received the scars on her back.
The next day, Valerie had called and offered to sub to Francine, who was in no state to be topping anyone, let alone someone she had strong feelings for. Francine, driven by the equivalent of post traumatic stress, went to the scene with the intent to do whatever it took to drive Valerie away from her. It was a testament to Valerie’s then new submissiveness that she held up to the agonizing pain for a hour before giving her safe word; the safe word that Francine, to her eternal shame, ignored. It would go another hour, with Valerie’s back savaged, before someone would find them and stop her.
When Francine had come to her senses and seen what she’d done, she ran to the kitchen and sliced her wrists, unable to bear the betrayal she’d committed. It had been Valerie, bleeding herself, and suffering untold agony, who had knelt on Francine’s wrists to stop the bleeding and saving Francine’s life. Both had been outed as sadomasochists and Valerie had lost her job. Through it all, Val had maintain her love for her friend and her forgiveness for what had happened. She had also forced Francine to swear that if and when she returned to dominating, that Valerie would be her first sub.
It was strange how things went, actually, considering that the significance of the ignored safe word in that scene. Now, Valerie was a switch, who owned her lover, Sally Thatcher, in a no safe word arrangement, and submitted to her Master, Charles Vanquil, in a similarly no safe word relationship. Tonight, there would be a safe word. Francine needed Val to have one.
Knowing she wouldn’t get any more sleep, Francine got out of her bed and hit the shower. Sleep and sweat were washed from her body, much like she wished she could wash the worry and fear from her as well. Part of Francine didn’t want to do this. She didn’t trust herself, not really. She remembered her last session with Dr. Gloush, her kink aware therapist.
“Francine, it’s about trust. We’ve dealt with all the other issues from the attack on you and the beating you gave Valerie. You need to trust yourself.”
“But Doctor, how can I trust myself? I haven’t earned that trust, certainly not Valerie’s. I don’t understand how she can be so willing to let the person who savaged her tie her up and take a whip to her back.”
“Because she trusts you. Francine, people don’t just trust those who’ve earned our trust, we also trust those in positions of authority. We extend trust to strangers on a provisional basis, to give them a chance to earn that trust. Without that kind of trust, there would not be complete trust. You need to give yourself that chance to earn your own trust. You need to play out a scene with someone; Valerie would be best.”
“Why, why would she be best? Shouldn’t I just bid on a sub at the auction?”
Francine was referring to the monthly charity slave auction at The Mephisto Club. Doctor Gloush shook his head. “You’re not afraid of going too far with a stranger, but with someone close to you. To be sure, it has to be Valerie.”
She washed the shampoo from her hair as the remembrance faded. She thought about the last year as she massaged the conditioner into her hair, letting it restore her hair’s full body. A little over a year ago, she’d gone back to Charles, her first dominant, to ask to be taken back in by him. Both Francine and the doctor had agreed, she needed to start entering back into the lifestyle with submission. For the first year after the incident, she couldn’t bear being near any BDSM. The sight and sounds of someone being dominated, especially receiving pain play, was more than her spirit could handle at that time.
Charles had been the perfect person to dominate her over the last year. Charles Vanquil had a passion for introducing submissives into the lifestyle properly (or at least as he viewed proper). An observant and caring Dom, he was able to lead a submissive to find just which aspects of the lifestyle he or she was interested in and comfortable with. Ironically, very few submissives stayed with him for a long time; Valerie and Sally were now the longest serving subs he had. That both had fallen in love with him wasn’t a coincidence.
Francine had learned much over this last year. When she’d first started in the lifestyle, Francine had discovered that she wasn’t much of a submissive. She could, with the right person, submit, but she’d been a natural dominant back then. Now, she was a more natural switch. The attack and subsequent loss of control had changed her. That dominant part of her soul was still there, but now, Francine Traline needed to submit to someone from time to time. She also discovered that there was a lingering attraction from the bad times. Francine craved being blooded. She’d returned to the lady who originally had cut her breasts and thighs several times since. The sight of her body’s precious life fluid slowly oozing out of the wounds the scalpel made gave her, simultaneously, a rush of excitement and a sense of peace; that all was right in the universe.
Several people had told her that such play was inherently wrong; that it was too dangerous (especially on the thighs, close to the vital femoral artery). They didn’t understand. The feel of her skin being violated, parting as the cut grew in length; The sharp pain of the skin being sliced; the feel of the blood as it ran along her skin; they were like food for her spirit. Randi knew what she was doing; where she could cut and how deep, safely.
Mephisto’s opened in five hours. Francine had insisted that Valerie and her play out their scene at the club; a public venue. As she puttered about the house, Francine recognized that familiar feeling building in her. Her dominance was rising, recognizing the opportunity that was coming. Valerie was a fantastic sub; able and willing to endure much for her dominant. As the desire and need to control, to put a sub through her paces grew, Francine’s fear of herself grew with it. “How can she trust me,” Francine would think. “How can I trust myself?”
She’d packed her toy bag the previous night. Good thing, too; as she doubted she could think about what to bring this afternoon. On the drive over, Francine’s fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel. At each red light, she had to force herself to calm down; to not blare on the horn or yell at the nearby drivers (who had no control over the lights anyway). When she realized that she had parked cockeyed across two spaces, she didn’t even try to re-park.
.... There is more of this story ...