Chapter 1

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Slavery, Brother, Sister, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, Spanking, Torture, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Body Modification, Slow, Violent, .

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Multiple tragedies drive a young dilettante to near the breaking point and force a radical change in his life. His search for both the truth and the love that is his.<br><i>First draft & feedback request</i>

Self destruction has never been something that I leaned towards before. Destruction, yes, and quite a bit of pain applied with both malice and love, but never self destruction.

I have always been referred to as a quite, reserved boy (and eventually, man) but I have always considered myself to simply be a thinker. I think about what I'm doing, even when I'm reacting to sudden situations. I watch, I observe, and I THINK about what I am doing, and what I AM going to do. This never stops, whether I'm reading a book, driving, walking, loving or fighting. I am always considering My options and what I WILL do.

I observe the world around Me constantly, and consider how it will affect My actions. I'm rather hard to surprise, and have a tendency to get upset and a bit disturbed when I AM surprised.

The events of the last two months had held plenty of surprises for me, and none of them were good. The unsolved death of My lover and part-time slave, nearly one hundred miles from where she was supposed to be, followed by the death of my parents two weeks later had placed me on a precarious balance. Finding out that I was a suspect in Anastashia's death and then learning that My parents were dead, pushed me even closer to the edges of insanity.

Anastashia's body had been found in a train yard, and because of my suspect status, I was never allowed to view it or give her a final goodbye, or even attend her funeral. Only a brief visit to her fresh grave after I was cleared as as suspect in her death, and on My way out of the country for My parents funeral. Being suspected in the abuse, rape and murder of the woman that I had loved without reservation, being accused of doing in malice what had been done in love, was a difficult thing. Being accused of killing her and dumping her body on a heavily used train line nearly destroyed my soul.

It took two weeks to convince the investigators from Scotland yard that we had loved each other without reservation, and doing even that required showing them the things that I had promised would be held privately. The pictures of Anastashia beautifully, and lovingly bound with satin and silk rope, the video's showing Me flogging and whipping her. The pictures of her beautiful ass covered in welts from a rattan cane. And, what finally convinced them, the video of my piercing her nipples, with her crying declaration of love for me at the end, thanking me for loving her and not turning her away, as a freak, as previous lovers had, and instead, satisfying her need for pain.

The inspectors returned all of the pictures and video's to me, and suggested that I might want to return to the states for a while. I had another funeral to attend.

I have always considered my family to be important to me, even when we haven't gotten along.

My parents never really agreed with or understood the choices that both my sister and I have made, concerning our lifestyles, but for some reason they accepted mine better than they accepted the choices of my sister Christina. Until that fateful week in october, I had regularly spoken with both of my parents, at least once a month by phone, somewhat less often for my sister. My sister hadn't exchanged a word with them in nearly seven years, as far as I knew. Mom was always asked me for updates on Chris.

I was the quiet one, but my sister Christina was the wild child. Fights in school, loud parties and drinking, a few drugs, and a total disregard for the opposite sex. The one thing that Chris and I had in common in our late high school days was that we were both attracted to the same girls, and for much the same reasons. Sometimes, after school, we would hang out at the mall, and share our thoughts on how this girl or that would look wrapped in rope, or suspended by her wrists and covered in welts.

After high school, both Chris and I worked various jobs, saving our money, going to school, and working towards a mutual dream, that of owning a club that catered to people with our preferences. The work, and having a definite goal helped Chris to mellow out, and it turned out that she had a better head for the financial side of business, while my talents were geared more towards keeping everything operating smoothly.

We scrimped and we saved, even so far as being roommates in an undersized apartment for four years before we were able to find a good location for our club, and another six months before we were able to get the loans we needed to buy it and get the club started.

During that period, Chris had gone through a few lovers, and the fallout from the ending of one of those relationships led directly to her not speaking with our parents. Myself, I had few lovers, I preferred to chose carefully, and I think that I enjoyed the results more than Chris did with her choices, but I was never quite sure of that.

A year after we'd opened the club, I met Anastashia. Six months later, I was on a plane with her, heading to Europe to learn, to train, and to love her.

And so, I found Myself, four years later on a dark afternoon, standing outside of a door decorated in a fading design of triskela's in blue, black silver and red, hardly noticing the cold November rain dripping off of the awning onto my uncovered head, wondering if there were going to be any more unpleasant surprises, and wondering how much solace I would find in a bottle.

Pushing through the door into the dim entryway, the first thing that hit me was the smell. Leather, smoke, a hint of stale beer, and something else, that hinted at sweat and something sour.

Making my way past the bar and mostly empty tables, and settling in at the booth that I had always preferred, at the very back, where both the lights and noises seemed to be held back, I settled in to the soft leather bench with my back against the rear wall of the public space.

The bartender worked her way to me after a few minutes, stood at the edge of the table, and instead of the expected request for an order, simply stated "we don't get guys in here much.'

Another surprise.

The startling content of her statement caused Me to look at My surroundings, and now that I was looking, I could see that all of the other patron in the bar were female, and most were looking at me, either openly or indirectly.

I shrugged off her statement, not really caring, and ordered. " GlenLivit, neat. Bring the bottle and an ashtray, and then undisturbed peace."

she stared at me for a few moments, until I pulled my wallet out and laid two hundred dollar bills on the table.

She looked at the money for a moment, and then sighed. Speaking quietly, not touching the money she tells me "I don't know what your troubles are, but if you stay here, you're likely to find more.'

" I AM trouble. The bottle, an ashtray, and solitude."

she watches me for another moment before scooping up the cash and heading towards the bar. A minute later, the bottle, an ashtray and a cheap glass were set in front of me.

Another surprise.

When we opened the Blue Ring, Chris and I bought cases of crystal tableware, knowing that the clientel that we were interested in would treat it with respect.

I shrugged, worked My way out of my wet jacket, and pulled my cigarette's out of the inside pocket.

Setting the smokes and lighter on the table, I opened the bottle poured three fingers and settled back into the leather, getting comfortable before I drank myself into oblivion.

Four fingers of expensive scotch whiskey, and two cigarette's later, I was starting to relax and enjoy the warmth of the liquor working it way through my body when a draft crossed my legs. A glance towards the door showed three people entering, and I turned back to my glass as one of them began to speak gruffly to the bartender.

Something was scratching at the back of my mind as I took another sip and considered lighting another Turkish smoke, but I ignored it until I heard that same gruff voice, very close.

"A lot of balls, sitting there. That's my spot. Move.'

I glanced around the table, not looking up. "My coat, my bottle, my glass, my ashtray, my smokes. Looks like my table to me." raising the glass towards my lips for another sip, I wasn't surprised to have it smacked out of my hands. At least now I know why it's cheap glass and not the crystal.

A straight armed palm strike to the midriff knocks her back far enough to let me stand from the booth as my mind is flooded with the clarity that can only come from adrenaline and the prospect of pain delivered with justification and malice.

My mind is clearer than it has been in more than a month, and I finally look at her. Leather pants, boots, leather jacket with metal spikes, over a red flannel shirt, her eyes are hard, her mouth set tight, brown hair cut so short as to tell me exactly what I was facing. A Dyke, a butch, a lesbian that acted like the world owed her for giving her a vagina and not a dick, with more macho in her little finger than most high schools have on the football team. And she was glaring at me with pure hate. I had challenged her, and now she needed to prove that she was more man that I was. Someone was about to get hurt.

Across the room, behind the bar, the bartender is franticly speaking on the phone.

Her fist came at me from somewhere near the floor, taking more than enough time to cross the distance. I allowed it to connect with my shoulder as I jabbed two fingers into the underside of her jaw, aiming for her tonsils.

She stumbled back into her two friends, clutching at her throat and making gurgling noises.

She shakes herself and clears her throat. " big balls. I'm gonna enjoy cutting them loose."

"Go play somewhere else, before you get hurt, little girl."

A knife drops into her hand and she lunges at me, and My soul shouts in near orgasmic glee. Oh Yes. The rules have just changed, and I get to REALLY hurt her.

Shifting to the side, allowing the knife to pass my body, turning as my right hand closes around her wrist, left palm slamming into the bottom of her elbow, the crack of something separating, continuing the turn, slamming her into the wall with her right arm bent backwards at the elbow, knife between her belly and the wall.

Her shriek of pain from her destroyed elbow ends abruptly as her forehead bounces off of the wall, and she collapses to the floor as I release My holds. The knife clatters on the tiled floor, it's tip broken off, embedded in the oak paneling,, the pommel end of the hilt showing blood where the dull point succeeded in penetrating her shirt and skin.

I squat down beside her, rolling her onto her back, as her companions step back from me. Looking towards the bar, I query the bartender with my eyes as my fingers check for a pulse.

"Cops and the medics are on their way. This isn't the first time Reg has started something in here"

"first time she's ended up on the floor, bleeding and out cold tho." a soft mutter from somewhere in the bar.

I looked back down, and began to assess the damage that I had done, as the adrenaline began to drain from my body and the regrets started to creep in. The bleeding from her stomach wasn't profuse, but it was soaking her shirt. I looked back at the bartender raised an eyebrow while pointing to the bleeding stomach, and caught the damp bar towel that she tossed to me.

I was applying pressure to the bar towel, on her stomach, when I heard the sirens outside. Looking back to the bartender, I saw that she hadn't moved from her place behind the bar, near the phone. Good.

"Coffee, and turn the lights up. The paramedics will need to be able to see."

the full brightness of the lights was almost blinding after the normal dimness, and My eye's returned back to the unconscious body on the floor next to Me.

Out cold, without hate and anger hardening her face her face showed a hint of beauty. I knew, instantly, that she could be a pretty woman, if not outright beautiful, if she were to let go of the hate and anger.

I made a decision.

Taking the now bloody towel, I swiped it over the spikes near the cuff on her wrist, and then returned to keeping pressure on her wound. Using My free arm, I stretched, grabbed the broken knife, and stuffed it deep under the bench seat of the booth. I then dragged My jacket onto the floor, in front of where I had stuffed the knife.

Her companions watched me with wary disbelief for a moment, and then one of them stepped over to the wall, and grasped the broken knife tip, and pulled it from the wall.

She dropped the broken piece of steel into her pocket as she knelt on the floor, across the unconscious form from me.

"sit, you're shaking. I'll keep the pressure on that until the medics arrive"

With a nod, I moved back into the booth, my feet pushing my jacket deeper under the seat. Reaching for a smoke, My hand found a steaming cup of coffee and a fresh ashtray.

"I asked her to release Me, once, almost six months ago. She laughed at me, and told me that I would be free of her the day that she prostrated herself on the floor for a 'man'. This is close enough for me. I loved her, once. With heart and soul I loved her. But the Reg I loved withered away, leaving something cold and heartless in it's place. This is the last thing I'll ever do for you, Reg. And only because I loved you."

her eye's never left the unconscious face on the floor as she spoke. I don't know if she was speaking to Me, to herself, or to her other companion. She kept the pressure on the belly as the sirens grew in volume and then stopped.

The door banged open as I was preparing to light a smoke. Two paramedics, followed by a policeman. The bartender said nothing, just pointed in my direction. The paramedics hurried towards me, and the policeman stopped to talk to the bartender.

The medics slid to a stop, setting their kits on the floor as they began their automatic assessment of their latest patient. I spoke up before they got too involved to hear me.

"She took a serious knock to the skull, probably has a serious concussion. Her right elbow was hyperextended more than ninety degrees and is either severely sprained with torn ligaments, or outright broken. The belly wound is shallow, from one of her bits of jewelry when she hit the wall, but it's bleeding good."

The paramedics nodded at me and resumed their own assessment, gently pushing Reg's former lover aside.

She stood, looked around, and shrugged, and then surprised me by sitting on the opposite bench of the booth.

What I had originally thought to be either dark brown or black hair turned out to be a very dark red, and it framed an elfin face with deep blue eyes.

"Hi, I'm slu... NO, My name is Jessica. Jess." turning to look at the bar, she calls out "Teri, can I have some coffee also?"

glancing towards the bar, I see the cop moving towards us, and the bartender nodding.

The door opens again, and another paramedic enters, pulling a stretcher behind him. The few patrons that are in the bar get helpful at this point and move some of the tables and chairs out of his way.

The cop pulls a chair from one of the nearby tables, set's it at the end of the booth and sits down as he frowns slightly, a look of confusion.

"So, Does someone want to tell me why Reg Hawthorne is out cold, on her back and bleeding, in a place that most folks consider to be her home turf, while a 'man' sit's across the table from someone that Reg has been VERY possessive and jealous about, and BOTH of them have blood on their hands?"

As I pondered where to begin telling the tale, Jess spoke up

" Reg brought me and Cat in here, like normal, and saw someone sitting here, where she prefers to sit, and started getting mad. She came over here, and realized that it was a 'man', you know how she feels about men, and totally lost it. She threatened him, he responded calmly. She smacked the glass out of his hand, he pushed her back and stood up. She nailed him in the shoulder with her brass knuckles. It looked like he smacked her in the jaw, but it obviously hurt more than a smack, she tried to nail him in the face with her spikes, but he twisted somehow, and grabbed her arm, and pushed her towards the wall. She shrieked, hit the wall and bounced onto the floor.

When she landed, her arm was bent all wrong and she was out cold. Then he surprised everybody, I think, when he started checking to make sure she was okay, and asked Teri, the bartender, for something to slow down the bleeding from her stomach, and to get the paramedics here.

I THINK she was already calling them before Reg actually started it, tho. After a couple of minutes of holding that towel on her belly, he started to shake, so I told him to sit down and took over for him. He asked Teri to turn up the lights and bring him some coffee. The paramedics got here, and he told them exactly what her injuries are, I sat down here, and then you came over. I think that's it.

The officer had her repeat her description of the events twice, as he took notes. And then he looked at me and asked " Anything to add, change or correct?"

" Well, I never noticed any brass knuckles, the 'smack' to her jaw was a two fingered jab aimed at her tonsils, her elbow was already done before she hit the wall, that's why her spikes got her in the belly."

"And was there anything that you could have done that might have prevented this from happening?"

"Probably not. She seemed to be spoiling for a fight from the moment she first spoke to me."

"And Besides" interjected a voice that was very dear to me, " he probably told her that it WAS his table. And that's the truth. Or at least, it's half his. That's his name over there on the wall, on the business license, right above mine."

At this point, the paramedics had Reg on their stretcher, and were preparing to wheel her out to the ambulance, and wanted the officers attention. He excused himself and stepped away from the table to speak with them as Chris poked me in the ribs, causing Me to scoot over as she set two of the crystal glasses that I had originally expected onto the table, and sat down next to me.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Dave, happy, but surprised. A little confused too. Where's your blonde shadow? The last time I saw you, the two of you were inseparable, and the last time we talked, you were talking about a permanent union. What's up?"


I had been so focused on the events of the last thirty minutes that I had actually forgotten why I was sitting at this particular table, and what I had been intent on doing. And I realized that Chris didn't know. Any of it.

I broke. I shattered. I fell apart.

I cried.

I howled.

I don't know how long My breakdown lasted, except that the coffee that had been steaming when the officer started his interview, was now cold. My chest hurt, my eyes burned, My nose was running, and I ached all over.

Chris had an arm wrapped around Me, holding Me, My tears had soaked a good portion of her shirt, and when I looked at her face, there was fear in her eyes.

" Dave, you're scaring me, and I don't need it. What do you mean ALL DEAD?"

I gulped air for a moment and the sobs threatened to return, and then forced my breathing to slow down, concentrating on slowing my heart, and getting myself back under control.

I sat Myself up, and grasped her shoulders, and took a deep breath before I could speak.

"Chris, Anastashia died last month, murdered. And mom and dad died in a car crash two weeks later. The funeral was yesterday. I tried to get ahold of you, but your voicemail was full, and you never called me back when I left messages here!

Gods, Chris, you're all I have left!"

The blood drained from her face, and we pulled each other in to a tight hug, holding on as if it was for the sake of our very souls. The sobs were coming back, and I didn't stop them, but it somehow felt better to know that I wasn't the only one crying.

When we had cried ourselves out, we sat up and separated, and I reached for the bottle. The cop cleared his throat, and that's when I remembered that Chris and I weren't alone at the table.

The officer was once again in his chair at the end of the table, Jess still sat across from me, but had been joined by a very petite raven haired girl, the other person that she had arrived with.

"I understand that you've had a very trying month, and you're probably feeling pretty drained, but I have a few more questions that I need to ask, for my report. Can you handle that right now?"

" I think so. I can certainly try."

" Thank you. First, it is obvious that you were assaulted by miss Hawthorne. Do you want to press charges? I've got more than enough witnesses to ensure that the charges stick."

"No, actually, I don't, right now. While she did start it, I most certainly finished it. It's probably going to require surgery to rebuild her elbow, and I knew exactly what I was doing when I broke it. She came out of the encounter a lot worse that I did. At most I'll have a bruise. At best, she's going to have six to ten months of therapy before she can effectively use that arm again, and that's assuming that the surgeons can rebuild it."

"That's very generous of you. The judge has already promised to throw the book at her if she shows up in court on another assault charge. And for him, that means five to ten years. Second., would you like someone to look at your shoulder? Or maybe see if you can get a doc to give you a tranquilizer to help deal with all of the recent stress?"

"My shoulder will be fine. At most I'll get a stiff bruise out of it. As for the trank, I've got more than enough right there." I point at the bottle with my thumb.

"Good enough. Third and last. I need you to sign these pages, and take one of my cards. Give me a call if you decide to press charges."

two signatures, a business card and a handshake later: "My condolences to the both of you on the loss of your loved ones. I hope that the night gets better for both of you."

"thank you, officer. May the rest of your night be quiet and free from stress."

One final handshake, and he replaced the chair at the table it belonged at, and headed out the door.

Cris waited until the officer was gone, and then faced Me.

"Dave, you've already shared names with Jess, Now I want you to meet Cat, short for Catharine. Aside from Reg's temper, they have all been welcome guests here for years. These two were both regulars here before Reg came into their lives, and I hope that they'll be regulars here thirty years from now."

"Cat, this is Dave, My slightly older brother, co-owner of this establishment, and the most dangerous, and gentlest man that I know."

I gave Cat the best smile I could manage at the moment, as she blushed and bowed her head, hiding her face. Jess spoke up.

"Cat has been My anchor, as Reg changed, and we've loved each other more consistently, and longer than either of us loved Reg, or Reg us, for that matter."

Cat appeared to blush harder, as she turned and tried to hide her face in Jess's shoulder. I decided to approach the matter directly. I could do no other.

"Cat, you know that Jess has renounced her bond to Reg. How do you feel about that?"

she turned her face, against Jess's shoulder, so that her voice was not muffled, her hair and Jess's shoulder hiding most of her face from view, and spoke in a quiet voice. "I accepted Reg's collar, not because of the love that I held for Reg, but because of the love I have for Jess. She is my guiding star and where she leads, I will follow, because my heart cannot bear to be without her."

With that, she turned her head back into Jess's shoulder and wrapped her arms around her, and began so softly sob.

I looked at the bottle and sighed. " Oblivion seems tempting, but I suspect that it is out of reach for tonight."

"Does that mean that you won't pour your sister a drink? "

I poured.

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