4 comments/  7615 views/  4 favorites

Vanilla Twist

By: Nitemonster



It isn't anything like she thought. She fully believed the ropes would be rough She never expected the precision. Of course she hadn't understood any of it. She thought she had.

She was that new breed 50 shades reader. The bored housewife with no excitement in her life who longed to feel something. She wasn't sure what it was and she was pretty sure it was not the jet helicopter world or a life in a dungeon. She did know there was something else she wanted and maybe now she was about to find out just what that meant.

He had brought it up slowly. Guarded and careful , the discussion of domination and submission had crept into their conversation over a period of weeks. He had woven it in with casual comments and waited so patiently for her to respond. Though they spoke weekly, the topic often did not even come up. He spoke of a natural order. She felt a tingle as she agreed. A tiny rush of fear and excitement. He talked of the fine line between pain, fear, and pleasure. How the mind confuses it and to experience one alone is to have a meal with a single ingredient and no spices. She questioned his role in the lifestyle and he casually dodged the question stating it was something for her to find out later. And now it was later.

It took a while for them to come to this point but he had finally allowed that he functioned as a dominant. He had been unsure of her acceptance. She was unsure just what it meant and questioned whether he would greet her one day in a leather hood and a whip in his hand. She feared the worst. Still the fear inserted a certain sensation in her. Inserted it just as sure as if it had climbed onto her body and seeped into her pores. She was transformed by the fear and anticipation. She sat at the high point on a roller coaster and waited for it to drop.

He had spoken of the chemical end. He had explained about the rush of endorphins and other neuropeptides. He presented it as a salad dressing for the soul. He explained about the main drug, oxytocin, which pervades the body and produces the feeling we call love. The psychological survival mechanism which pushes this through our interstitial fluid and makes us feel for the people we put our trust into. At all times in human development there come moments when we must depend on others. It is this need to trust that allows some people to survive in the care of others while others reject and die. It may have been as simple as trusting someone to pull a stick from a wound after a fall or attack but it was the one who trusted who survived. Evolution took care of the rest. Now it is a natural thing to send volumes of oxytocin through the body in the presence of someone we need to trust. It would be a very rare person who goes into surgery and does not believe his surgeon is the best. Likewise, the ski instructor, white water rapids guide, and scuba pro. We trust our lives with some people and we feel an attraction as a response. A television documentary tested the oxytocin levels of people making their first skydive and, in the presence of their instructor, showed an oxytocin increase equal to that of a bride seeing her groom on their wedding day. Trust builds attraction and so much more. It is an inevitable function.

She realized he had left out one part. Their could be no rush of chemicals like that felt by a sub for her dom. This was a relationship built on nothing but trust. Nothing. A sub gives herself over and is the embodiment of trust. In return she is rewarded with this wave of chemicals which can rise to tsunami levels. It overcomes and there is no fear, no pain, no other life outside of her world of internal flight. And a sub does fly. To a place nobody else will ever quite be able to understand. Doms look at it from the outside and, if they have any sensitivity at all, are amazed and perhaps jealous. Jealous and proud of what they have done.

Now she just marvelled at the quality of the rope. It was beautiful in its blood red hue. It was impressive in terms of technical merit. Knots so esthetically arranged. It was much softer than expected. But more than anything, it was stunning in its level of restraint. She had agreed to this, even found herself requesting it, as an academic experiment. She had felt giddy as the first bonds snaked around her wrists and tightened but her hands had been in front of her and she was fully dressed. She felt somewhat concerned when he had her bring her knees through and place her bound wrists behind her back. He tied her ankles together and her wrists to her ankles so that she kneeled in the middle of the room. He had provided a pillow for her and she rested comfortably. At least physically. He put a bar between her knees and secured it and she began to experience the rush of her ultimate immobility. But still she had her protection Her clothing. 

This had been a discussion among friends and now it had progressed. She did feel the things he talked about and she did feel a rush and a strange attraction to this man who she thought of only as a friend. She wanted to giggle, not to laugh at him but to express a strange rising happiness. And then he pulled, seemingly from nowhere, a ball gag. She wanted to protest but his stern look made her think about it further. He didn't look menacing and she wasn't afraid but a shiver raced through her as she compliantly opened her mouth and the hot pink ball was inserted. She had to breathe through her nose and it took some adjusting. Her eyes watered some and she began to feel a strange blend of discomfort and happiness. She was also surprisingly proud of herself. She had taken something from abstract to reality and she had not flinched. She even felt she was enjoying something which she had only thought of as an abstract discussion a short time ago. And now she found herself wanting even more.

It was funny. She had been so happy that she had the safety net of clothing. He had never seen her naked and this had been an academic test but now she had an unexpected urge to be exposed. To be vulnerable. To be his toy. And when he brought the knife from his pocket and flicked open the blade she didn't even begin to consider the cost of the clothing or what she would wear to go home. She just went limp in her restraint. Even as the trickle of humiliation and fear blended with the anticipation of pain she felt herself lighten and the world take on a different quality. She had experienced sex before. She was about to fly.

Vanilla Twist Ch. 02



It was three days since she had seen him and she had time to ponder. She had been confused. Not by what had been done to her but by what had not. 

Before he so unceremoniously removed her clothes, she'd held mental images of painful whippings and clamps squeezing her most delicate of parts but none of that happened. She dreaded it when they began and she was certain it was coming but she felt some sort of disappointment when it didn't happen. A yearning. 

This girl was no masochist. She'd heard the term "pain slut" and she knew she was nothing of the sort. As she had been kneeling in front of him, exposed after he so casually sliced her clothing off, she expected to feel stinging blows. Wasn't this the image always portrayed? Wasn't this what it was all about? Wasn't this dominance? She'd been thinking about the event for days now.

Instead he was almost gentle. Well, maybe that was the wrong word. He was amused. He appeared to enjoy her discomfort. He walked slowly around her and smiled slightly. He held her chin and raised it so he looked her in the eye and then , after a moment, pushed her head down as though instructing her to refrain from looking at him again. He momentarily removed the ball gag and he ran his fingers around her mouth and shoved two of them deep between her lips, passing her tongue and eliciting a slight gag. He softly said " We'll have to work on that." He roughly replaced the ball, tightening the leather retaining strap tighter than before.

He put his hand around her throat and squeezed a little more than gently. She felt a bit of panic race through her and it increased as he used his other hand to pinch her nostrils closed. He held her like this, her staring complacently downward and and increasing urgency to breath building inside her. He seemed to understand the exact instant that terror took over her thoughts. She knew he understood that instant because he held on for another two seconds. She gasped and tears began to flow as she regained her composure. He quietly used a little finger to scoop a tear off of her cheek and quietly taste it. His smile deepened as he did this.

All the time she was exposed. This was someone she knew but only in an academic and friendly way. The discussion of this type of intimacy had been one that seemed distant and yet here she was. Open to him. Available. She would later learn just how much he loved that word. Available. Always available. She was proud of her breasts and extended nipples and tried to suck in her belly which was ravaged by time and babies. 

Thinking back she wondered if it was then that she began to have the desire. The want. The need to feel. More.

She said she didn't like pain. She felt that it was always something put up with in a lifestyle of pretend subservience and submission. During these moments as his hands freed up her throat she began to fantasize about what a rush of emotion would flow through her body if she were to feel a blow upon her soft skin. As on cue, he brought forth a riding crop.

She'd seen them but only in the context of jockey's and equestrians. She'd never seen anything so fearsome or beautiful. Like many of his toys, she would find it to be hand made. By his hand of course. A black leather wrapping which covered a powerfully stiff and yet flexible carbon fiber shaft. The handle was laced in red leather and red leather tendrils hung off of the business end. She tensed and awaited a stinging blow not knowing where it might land. Her eyes closed and her tears welled up. And nothing happened.

Nothing at all. He waited. He waited until she opened her eyes and then he so slowly dragged the tendrils across her left nipple. A nipple which immediately became so engorged she felt that any more blood flooding to it would surely burst the skin. He dragged it across her breast and circled the soft white flesh. It was summer and she couldn't help notice how deep he was within the tan lines. "No man's land" , her husband had called it. She wondered what her husband would be thinking if he knew what was going on now. Her tormenter continued to refuse to torment her. Slowly she was beginning to crave what she feared and the feeling was one of pure delight and confusion. Why didn't he strike her? She wondered if it would be gentle or brutal. She wondered how she would react. She was determined to be stoic. 

She knew he had given her a "safe word" and that she at first thought it was for her protection. He had told her that, while it might protect her, it was her silence or non use of the word that was his permission and that he would never ask. Ever. She found she didn't want him to ask. She crazily did not want him to hold back. She didn't know how she would explain any bruises to her husband but he had been easy enough to avoid anyway. He didn't understand her. She didn't understand herself. She only knew she was exploding with desire for something she would have found abhorrent just a few minutes ago. Confusion raced through her. She wanted to look up at him and beg him to strike her. She could not understand the desire and she knew that, without a word, he had instructed her not to look at him directly.

The riding crop slid down the valley of her cleavage which was now damp with sweat. It paused and bounced lightly on the ribs. Much too lightly and she thought she might have heard him chuckle a little. Then it began a predictable tour of the other breast. 

"Breasts." That was the word she had been using when she fantasized but now she looked down and found that her simple lily white way of looking at the world was fading away as rapidly as her control. She was losing control of her body and he had hardly touched it. She wasn't looking down at her "breasts" any more. These were her tits. These were her throbbing fucking tits and that soaking area between her legs was her cunt. Pure and simple. That's what the world was becoming. Tits, Cunt, Holes, Availability. She shuddered and her fucking cunt got wetter.

The riding crop traveled easily to her belly. She had been trying to hold it in and she was failing. She could see that he was not just gliding over the area but actually poking it at it. She was not sure if he was testing it or simply pointing out that she did not have the flat stomach of a young girl or fitness model. He didn't seem to mind at all. He pushed into her flesh and she felt something very vulnerable and human. She was not going to be able to hide anything from this man. She was not going to need to hide anything from this man. She was going to be freed. Her mind raced back to the thought. When was he going to hit her. He knew, or thought she did, that this was a necessary part and now she began wanting? Desiring? Even craving it. She was so very confused.

As the crop traced the tops of her legs she wondered how he could avoid her now pounding cunt. Didn't all men want to go right there. She knew her husband had no interest in stopping anywhere else but this man seemed to avoid it or even disinterested for the time being. The sensation on the tops of her legs was extreme because the muscles were already pulled tight from kneeling and now the light tapping of the crop made her legs shake. But it wasn't just her legs. There was something else going on here. Something she had never experienced nor ever expected to. Something so strong racing through her she didn't know whether to laugh, cry, vomit, or scream. So she did what she should. She stared with a deferred gaze at the floor. She knew she had become a good girl.

The next thing she felt was his hand on the back of her head. She wondered if this was the time he was about to shove the cock she had never even seen down her throat. She initially wanted to show him her skill at giving a blowjob but now she just wanted to be fucked in the face. She got neither. So far she wasn't getting anything she wanted and she was getting so much more. 

She felt the push. It wasn't even gentle. Tied with her hands behind her back and her knees under her she could do nothing but fall forward and she knew she was about to strike her forehead with the kind of pain that makes the world go white. She braced for it but it didn't happen. She felt, instead, the sharp pull on her head as he caught her inches from the floor with the grip on the back of her hair. She was surprised by the shift in expected pain. She was surprised that she liked it. Even craved it. Wondered how she could be so sick as to feel that way and was even more proud as she saw the tears drip to the floor. And still he had never struck her.

Now she was bent over and exposed. After the riding crop did its exploration of the back of her neck, down her spine, and bounced off the sides of her now hanging breasts- no, tits- it grazed her open and available asshole. God she hoped he wouldn't go there. Her husband was always nagging her about it but she felt it was not right and just too dirty. She felt it would hurt badly. She wouldn't allow it. Was she going to allow it now? Did she have a choice? She had a safe word and she could bring it all to a stop in an instant. Was that where she wanted to go? She didn't really even know him all that well. She suddenly realized she didn't even know herself all that well and that he might have known her better than she did.

This was three days ago and she was still trying to figure it out. He'd flipped the riding crop and passed that little rosebud in favor of her dripping cunt. He played with the lips and he rudely pushed it inside her. She was penetrated. Penetrated. Taken. Used. Available.

And then he took the well lubricated handle and put it on that place she protected so much and guarded even from her own husband and he pushed. And it went in. Not without some pain, but it went in and she felt a rush of humiliation. And a rush of pain, And a rush of joy. And a rush of pride. She was his. She was his good girl.

He walked around her knowing that she must look like some strange naked animal with a leather tail sticking out of her back side. She sobbed and shook. More than shook. She felt wave after wave of something that can only be compared to an internal earthquake and he knelt down and held her. He held her for a long time and it took a long time for her to come down. She had never been high like this before. She had never been in a space like this before. She was never going to be the same. 

He held her. He eventually pulled the riding crop from her. He eventually snipped the ropes and quietly walked away. She didn't know how they would talk again. She didn't know how she would face her husband. She didn't know how she was going to face the world. She was a different person. 

She lay with her head on the floor and her ass in the air for what seemed like hours and then pulled herself together. She was so grateful he had stayed with her through the strongest part. Grateful? Really? She was. And confused. And free.