Claire Thompson - Tracy in chains

He had used her, plain and simple. He had played upon her desires, taking advantage of her virginal ardency to taste the forbidden pleasures he seemed to offer. Despite the trappings of bondage, what had really just happened was a typical, 'wham bam thank you ma'am'.

She felt used, and frustrated. "Untie me, Guy," she said, her voice tight with controlled anger.

Perhaps Guy sensed at last that she was upset, because he tried to 'clean it up' by saying, "That's right, slave girl. I'm going to untie you so you can make yourself come for me. You're gonna make yourself come, like the slut you are."

Tracy didn't respond, waiting until he had released her before saying, "Wrong, Guy. I'm going to get dressed and go home."

"What?!" Guy spluttered, attempting outrage, thinking she was still playing a role. He seemed to be trying to figure out if it was 'stubborn maiden needing to be subdued' or 'haughty whore' needing to be put in her place. Truth to tell, the excitement of tying her down and fucking her like that had completely worn him out and what he really wanted to do was take a nap.

Instead he gamely commanded, "You will lie down this instant and come for me, slave girl, or get a thrashing you won't soon forget!"

Tracy ignored him, irritated by how obviously this was all a stupid little game to him. Grabbing her clothes, she went into the bathroom, using a wet towel with soap to try and wash away the smell and feel of him from her body.

She came out fully dressed a few minutes later. Guy was lying on the bed, still naked, his penis ridiculously small against his large white belly. Repulsed, and angry with herself for succumbing to his ruses yet again, Tracy grabbed her purse and said simply, "Don't get up. I'll see myself home." And she was gone.

Ironically, it was Paul who helped her to see that the experience hadn't been a total waste. She had typed furiously to him that evening, even though Kyle was in the next room. She told him everything that had happened, and how stupid and used she felt by the whole thing.

Paul sympathized with that aspect of it, but suggested, "Tell me about the good parts. Focus on what excited you; what turned you on. Forget Guy as a fallible horny jerk who used your trust and innocence to get himself off. Think about what you took away from it; what he unwittingly gave you even though he clearly wasn't doing it for you.

"You got a little taste of bondage, of being bound and truly unable to move. What did that feel like? You felt what it was like to be gagged; to be unable to scream."

Remembering the gut level thrill of being tied down, actually tied down, just like in her endless fantasies, gave Tracy a little zing in her pussy as she sat there watching Paul's words scroll across the screen.

He continued, "Beyond that, you learned some things you'll want toavoid in the future. The 'wannabe's', the pretenders, who use the chic guise of BDSM and Dominance and submission, but who really only want a passive woman to fuck."

Tracy thought about what he wrote, and had to agree he made some good points. She felt as if she hated Guy now; he had used and tricked her. Again Paul disagreed, suggesting she try and think of it from his point of view. She hadn't confided very much at all to Guy. He knew nothing, really, about her secret dreams or longing for a connection.

She had pasted her image of what she wanted in a Dom onto Guy, who remained happily oblivious of her intentions or expectations. He couldn't be blamed for being a horny guy who would jump at the chance to get into her pants. It was her own expectations she should find fault with; not him.

Guy continued after that to try and reconnect with Tracy. On some level he knew the experience had been less than satisfactory, but he wasn't insightful, or involved enough, to really understand. Tracy had been a delightful diversion, and was still a constant temptation, as she was always in his direct line of sight at work.

She, on the other hand, no longer had the slightest interest in meeting him again 'after hours'. His attempts with further little letters 'ordering' her to comply, were ignored, as were his efforts to try and get her to another happy hour, presumably to get her drunk and compliant.

She did finally agree to go to lunch with him, to explain herself and make it clear, once and for all time, that whatever they had had was definitely over. To his credit, Guy backed down like a proper southern gentleman, when he finally saw it was hopeless. There was a cute little thing in collections he had his eye on, anyway. Tracy was just too much work.

Tracy found she no longer had any ill feelings toward him. As Paul had said, he was really just a guy as frustrated and lonely as so many people were, trying to find something in his life that approximated joy. And again, Tracy realized Paul was right. She also acknowledged another thing that had been growing like a secret seed in her mind and heart for some time. A little flower of admission pushed up into her consciousness – it wasn't Guy she wanted; and it wasn't an abstract experience of being dominated by another. It was Paul.

It was a beautiful spring day when Tracy's secret world came crashing down around her. She had spent a pleasant hour picking out the perfect bouquet for Paul's birthday, with a card to be signed, "Your secret admirer." She was going to call the florist back tomorrow with the address to his office, as soon as she got it from Paul's receptionist, and have the flowers sent. She smiled as she imagined his surprise and delight when he got them.

There was still a trace of a smile on her face when Tracy opened the door to her home. Tonight, Kyle had gotten there before her, and at once she knew something was up. He was there to meet her at the door, something he never did, and his expression was grim. "What's the matter, Kyle, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"You could say that," he said, enigmatically, his voice flat.

"What are you talking about?" Tracy asked, as she dropped her suit jacket over a chair and slipped out of her uncomfortable pumps with a little sigh of relief.

"This is what I'm talking about." He led her into the living room, where her laptop sat, its little lid hanging by one hinge, several of the keys smashed out, and the power source ripped from its socket.

"What the hell…" Tracy trailed off. At first she thought they'd been robbed, but that didn't make sense. They would have taken it, not destroyed it. Then she knew, and a cold sick feeling flooded her gut, making her want to either pass out or throw up.

"That's what I want to know, Tracy," Kyle said, his voice cold.

"You ruined my laptop!"

"You've ruined my life."

"What?" She was stalling for time and knew that he knew it.

"Cut the shit, Tracy. I got in there. I read all yourfucking emails to thatfucking Paul person. I know about him. And about all the sick twisted shit you're into. You disgusting bitch! You slut! You cunt! " His voice got louder and louder as he loomed over her, all 6'5" menacingly poised in a fighter's stance, his fists clenched in rage. Tracy took a step back, adrenaline flooding through her body like ice blasts.

"How could you? Oh God, how could you?" Kyle's voice slipped and broke into sobs, as he collapsed on the floor beside the chair.

Tracy reached out to him, even as her gut still clenched in terror. "Oh, Kyle," she whispered, fear shutting her mind down, his tears breaking her heart.

"How could you, Tracy, after all our years together? How could you betray me like this?"

Tracy looked over at her destroyed computer, and thought with fledgling rage and indignation that Kyle had read her personal letters, her secret thoughts and dreams that she'd never felt safe sharing with him. It felt like a rape, not the sexy dream sequence rapes of her fantasies, but a violation, pure and simple.