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dontjudge06242014aRe
Don’t Judge
Judgment Series #1
By Laura & Christopher Cooper
Published by:
Don’t Judge
Copyright © 2014 by Christopher Cooper
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This
is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the
product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and resemblance
to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is
entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18
years of age or older.
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He pushed me face first against the wall, and before I had
time to offer the first hint of resistant his hands were all over me. I felt
his thick thigh forced its way between my legs as he leaned into me, and his
excitement was fully evident as it pressed into the small of my back.
For most women it might be terrifying, but personally I think
they’re lying not only to themselves, but everyone else as well. I, on the
other hand, was pushed directly towards the edge and felt absolutely no fear
whatsoever. What I did feel was pure excitement, and I just needed to feel his
touch to gain the confidence to let go.
He grabbed my wrists and held them above my head. His
breath heavy on my neck, he roughly scraped his five o’clock shadow down the
nape of my neck and sank his lips into my shoulder. Fire shot through me, and
with my hands held down and his weight pressed against me I was completely
under his control. I won’t lie to you, at that particular moment I was hooked.
I have to admit that what the rest of the world deems as a
‘normal’ relationship has never appealed to me. All those late night tweets
and texts, updating the facebook relationship status and plain old goofy,
romantic gestures have never been my thing. My roommate Melanie, on the other
hand, relishes in these things and the two carat diamond on her finger is proof
positive that those things work for her and David. They just don’t work for
me. Those sorts of things actually turn my stomach.
I’ve seen the way my parents hold their breath at family
functions, as though they’re waiting for the moment when I come out of the closet
and announce that I’m a lesbian. As if I’m always on the verge of saying,
“Mom, pass the mashed potatoes please, and oh yeah… I like pussy.” They’d
probably accept that easier than the real truth. The real truth is something
Bob and Diana Crenshaw would never, ever understand.
I’m not even sure how I got to the point of wanting to be
controlled, instructed, and punished. All I can explain with great certainty
is that no man has ever given me what I need in a ‘normal’ relationship.
Eventually they’ve all shrugged their shoulders and called me names like
‘carpet muncher’ as they stormed out my door. I’ve never taken it to heart
because I know that’s their ego talking; their way of guarding against their
own inner voice that tells them they couldn’t satisfy me. I’m not heartless.
In some ways I felt sorry for them, yet I kept rifling through them as if
miraculously one would strike a chord and I could finally change my facebook
status and ease my parent’s nightmares. To date, that hasn’t happened.
When the realization first slapped me in the face I was
standing in the local ‘couples’ store –alone and incognito – reading labels on
erotically packaged dildos. I knew if I was going to face the rest of my life
as a loner then I needed more power. As I rounded the corner a large cardboard
display caught my eye: Each large box had a picture of a woman blindfolded,
tied, and bound with an excessively large red ball shoved in her mouth.
Curiosity got the better of me and I reached up and pulled my baseball cap
further down over my face and scoured my surroundings as if I was on some
covert mission. Finding my efforts to remain anonymous largely ignored by the
rest of the store, I picked up the box and studied it intently.
It doesn’t sound like much of a defining moment, but I’ve
come to the conclusion that these instances are rarely accompanied by
fireworks. The woman on the cover of the box had everything I wanted, and a
pang of jealousy shot through me. She was tied, bound and gagged; a strong masculine
hand on her bloodshot ass told me that someone had her under complete control.
I studied the picture carefully as if it contained the almighty answer to the
questions that have plagued me since puberty.
Fifty Shades Starter Kit. It contained a ball gag, five
yards of nylon rope, a battery powered ‘massager’ and instructions. This
bargain was only $99. What would I do with it? Tie myself up? How would I
hide a box of that size from Melanie? I sighed and put the box back on the
display, acutely aware that my life was lacking the one key element needed for
something like this to work: A man.
I’d gone home on a mission that afternoon and by the wee
hours of the morning I had a plan. Delving into the mysterious world of true
BDSM via the internet, I began to wonder how long the instructions in that box
back at the ‘couples’ store must have been. No wonder the box was so big.
What I did discover to my surprise was that there was a local chapter of a BDSM
club that met the first Thursday of every month at a downtown hotspot.
Immediately I signed their online registration and agreed to attend their Meet
and Greet scheduled for tomorrow evening.
While it may seem that I’m one of those independent souls
content to roam about alone I assure you that isn’t the case - far from it.
The thought actually occurred to me to ask Melanie to go with me, and then I
laughed. Somehow this secret seemed too abnormal, too humiliating to share
with anyone. I’d have to face it alone. No one could possibly understand how
isolated from the rest of the population I felt, yet desperation to have my
needs fulfilled overcame my shyness and I was determined to press forward with
this no matter what the consequences. Perhaps it was a last ditch effort to
find myself, to finally identify what –if anything- would quench the sensual
side of me. But whatever it was my gut told me I’d find it at this Meet and
Greet.
*-*-*-*-*
I can’t do it.
I decided, and readjusted my grip at ten and two on the
steering wheel, gnashing my brand new fingernails into the sun hardened
leather. Honestly I don’t know what I was thinking. This was a clear
byproduct of too much cheap wine, chocolate ice cream and lack of physical
contact. To think that I could ever bring myself to engage in something like
this was a ridiculous concept. I was only waiting for my inner voice to pipe
in, chiding me to put a halt to this insane behavior immediately. She always
seems to rear her ugly head when I’m about to make a terrible decision, and no
matter how hard I try I can’t get her to just shut up.
Chickening out once
again? Never going to know unless you go in.
My subconscious is a total
bitch.
Couple that with a healthy dose of anxiety and the desperate
need to do something completely out of character and you have my usual recipe
for disaster. Against my better judgment, I pulled the handle hard on the car
door and thrust my feet out.
I’m way past the point of questioning my choice of attire; I
spent three hours going through my entire closet before settling on a simple
black dress. Never once did I consider anything with a heel, but that’s
probably because I knew I’d want a solid foot if I chose to flee at the last
minute. Staring at the front door I’m still floored they’re meeting at the
local bar. I’d been in here many times for lunch with my friends from the
office, and the fear of running into one of my coworkers is really what
frightened me. As it happened, a single stranger stood in the bar waiting area
to greet and meet me.
She was a cute girl; long straight platinum blonde hair with
streaks of bright crimson dyed into the left side. She waved me over with a
forced smile, as if she wasn’t practiced as a greeter. “Hello, I’m Molly.
I’ll be walking you through the rules and shit.”
“Uhh…” I hesitated not because I was almost positive that
crimson, purple and teal as hair colors went out of style in the 90’s, but
because she was much too young to teach me about much of anything, much less
sex.
“It’s okay,” she said in her best babysitter’s voice. “The
others won’t be here for at least an hour. Get you a drink?”
“Yeah… I don’t know. Maybe this was…” Of course I was
going to say, “One big, huge, mammoth mistake,” but she cut me off.
“Relax. It’s just you and me. Have a name?”
“Stella.” It wasn’t my name, but then again I doubted hers
was Molly either.
“Right. Two Manhattans please,” she said to the waitress.
Turning her attention back to me, she smiled a weak but somewhat reassuring
smile, “Relax, just got a little housekeeping to do before everyone shows up.”
She pulled the strap on the oversized bag that hung on the back of her chair.
The bag was filled with what looked like school books, and before I could ask
she produced a thick black two-inch binder and opened it on the small table between
us.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I blurt, already feeling my
fleeing instinct taking hold. “I didn’t expect to be the only one here. I
think I’m going to be on display as a newbie and I’m not comfortable with that,
so I’d better just go.”
She stopped her paperwork shuffling and looked over at me
with what appeared to be pity, and then just continued as if I hadn’t voiced my
opposition at all. “It’s just a short read, and then you sign the NDA.”
“NDA?”
“Non-Disclosure Agreement. Everyone has to sign… you know,
protect everyone’s anonymity.”
With furrowed brow I looked down at the binder. I feel like
spouting the blatantly obvious fact that maybe they should have chosen some
place other than the most popular bar in town, but I’ve never been able to grab
the nerve to be a bitch to children.
Before I could protest any further she said, “You realize
nothing happens here. We’re not all stripping down to our skivvies and
paddling each other on the pool table.” She could sense my fear and it occurs
to me that she’d be a fantastic character for Stephen King. “This is just a
place to meet and hang out. No funny business here, I promise.”
As an afterthought to her mind reading she added, “We just
like to get out of the dungeon’s once in a while like everyone else.”
I’m sure that was supposed to be hilarious because she
laughed. I did not.
The waitress appeared with our drinks and with a cheerful
smile hands me a small blue, folded piece of paper. “You’ve got an admirer,
and he’s very cute.”
“What?”
“The man over…” she waved her arm at the empty table in the
corner. “Well, he was there a minute ago,” and she turns back to me with a
confused grin. “Asked me to give you that.”
I unfolded the paper and quickly realized it was a
prescription pad.
Beautiful. Please stay -
I want to smile, but I suppress it. On the whole I’ve never
been one of those mushy, gushy girls with more beanie babies than good sense.
Still, the vague note spurs my confidence and I’m renewed in my volition to see
this through. My new friend Molly seems to sense my decision to stay and
slides the binder under my nose. “Good. You look this over and sign it. I’ll
be back.”
I gulped half the Manhattan in two swallows, hoping to
desensitize myself to the situation and add needed courage. The top of the card
was printed and I held it up to the light to read.
Dr. Graham
Winters of the East Lake Medical
Center, complete with numbers for fax and phone. I shoved the note into my
purse imagining my tall, dark and handsome admirer.
*-*-*-*-*
It’s been over an hour and although I’ve met some
interesting people, I’m left with more questions than answers. Unfortunately,
that’s not a good thing. It’s as if they’ve gone out of their way to show me
this lifestyle was not about sex, but trust and service. I’m even more
convinced now that this type of thing isn’t for me. It probably isn’t their
fault; the entire scenario turned me off. The evening held a tinge of
creepiness I just couldn’t shake. The right words came out of their mouths but
I had the distinct feeling that they were a bunch of perverts only after their
own satisfaction. If I leave now I can crack a bottle of wine, grab my ice
cream and cuddle up on the couch with a good movie and skip all the torture
part and just do it myself. Here I felt cheap and on display. Somehow I
expected these people to have the answer to my needs, yet it was clear they
were still working on their own.
So much for my first adventure into the BDSM lifestyle,
I thought as I reached into my purse and fingered my car keys. The man who’d
sent me the note was the bright spot of the evening and I hadn’t even seen him,
though I had asked the waitress to point him out if she saw him again. I
wanted to thank him for the vote of confidence. Before I gave up on this
farce, I’d inquired again about him and the girl told me she hadn’t seen him
the rest of the night.
My mind was made up, and there would be nothing from
stopping me walk right out that door and put the awkward situation behind me
permanently. Thankfully I was alone and not with my friends, because the last
thing I needed was to share my fall from grace with those I spend the majority
of my time. I don’t know why I was thinking this was something I had to
experience. Quite frankly I found the group amateurish and bordering on the
insanely idiotic. And I’d have made it out of there if it weren’t for him.
His fingers wrapped across my forearm; the grasp firm but
gentle. As I spun around I gazed directly into his bright blue eyes his
unspoken request was both intriguing and satisfying. I froze, and for just a
split second wanted to crawl into his eyes and rest. Finally I was face to
face with my ‘admirer.’ His request was simple, and honestly required no
effort on my part. Little did I know I was mere moments away from the most
intense experience of my life.
“Wait. I want to show you something.”
I would have normally treated a statement like that a cheesy
attempt to gain my confidence, yet his stare was mesmerizing and I felt myself
falling, incapable of standing on my own. With his other hand he grabbed my
elbow, steadying me as I tipped on my heels. The look in his eye was raw lust,
and regardless of my feeble attempts to keep my desires at bay and maintain my
wits I felt my control fading away. He pulled me towards him, and feeling my
nipples ache as they’re now mere inches from his expansive chest, the inside of
his thigh touched the bare skin peeking just below the hem of my skirt. I
mumbled incoherently, “I… uh...”
The next few moments were literally a blur as he pulled into
the dark hallway that led to the bathrooms. With skill and precision he had me
against the wall, and the heat from his thighs split my legs as he pushed my
wrists apart and above my head. His beard scraped the nape of my neck, and his
warm soft lips were like fire upon my skin as I felt him press against me. I’m
trapped, and the hard lump of flesh cleverly disguised within his pants pressed
against the sensitive skin of my exposed inner thigh. It was hot, and my skin
felt alive and open for him. My nipples hardened with haste, and I felt the
sense of urgency throbbing between my thighs.
Take me,
I thought to
myself.
Take me now!
