Date: Fri, 10 Oct 2003 02:09:26 EDT
From: SolCorazon@aol.com
Subject: Enslaving David Chapter 1

Copyright 2003 SolCorazon. All rights reserved.

Disclaimer: If love and sex offend you, if you are under 18
and/or this is illegal in your area, don't read.

This story is copy written by me and may not be used without
my permission. All of the people in this story exist only in
my twisted dreams.

If you like this story, please let me know at SolCorazon
(at) aol.com

Thanks to Nifty.


To JB. Your words move me. I miss you. I love you.



                       Enslaving David
                              
                        By SolCorazon
                              

I want to hurt someone.
I need to hurt someone.
But only if they want it too.
Sick isn't it?

Today was one of those totally fucked up days in the ER,
where everything that could go wrong did: a major pileup on
the highway closest to the hospital, three patients crashing
all at once, right before the accident victims arrived and
an irate family member blowing up in the waiting room. Shit.
Adrenaline junkie I may be, but it was almost too much, even
for me.

I just . need it. I claim that I don't. I say that it
doesn't matter, vanilla or whatever, I just love sex. I
really don't need the SM. Sometimes though, on a night like
tonight, when my nerves are vibrating and twitching and I'm
feeling raw, like the top layer of skin has been scraped
away or like all of the cells in my body are spitting fire,
I know that I'm lying to myself, that I NEED it. It's not a
game, it's not just something I like to do on occasion to
spice things up, and it's not role play.

It's me. It's what's at the very heart of me. This thing
builds up inside of me. A pressure that makes me feel like
I'm gonna implode. No, I don't mean to say explode. That
would be too much like right and I always do things
backwards. Maybe because I'm left handed.

Nah, if it came right down to it, I'd implode because I'm
one of those people who keeps everything inside, everything
contained. I'm one of those people that other people assume
is cool, calm and always in control. Yeah, right.

Someone actually told me they'd never met anyone as centered
as me. I restrained myself from laughing hysterically and
just chuckled a little. They have no idea. My foster sister,
Karen, once told me that I'm so chill that it's scary and
that people find me intimidating. Not the first time I've
heard that one.

The bar I'm in is one of those dark, grungy bars that you
can get lost in if you want to. The air is thick with smoke
and violet colored, the floor is so sticky that if you stay
still for too long you might end up glued in place. And
there's men, all kinds of men: white men, black men, Latino
men, Asian men, tall, short, fat and skinny men.

Testosterone, my drug of choice.

I was already high and still riding the wave of adrenaline
from earlier today; the pulsing, rhythmic beat of the music
and the presence of all of these men ratcheted me even
higher. The volume was just right; the low hum of chatter
and the rhythmic trance music layered over top. And the
smell of men. There is nothing like the smell of a roomful
of men.

It was a Tuesday night, so it wasn't as packed as it would
be on a Friday night. There was even a small, empty table in
the corner in the back. For now, it was enough to just sit,
sucking on a bottled water and absorbing the atmosphere.

Someone else seemed to have the same idea. I glanced at the
guy at the table next to me. Our glances caught and held.

He looked at me as though he knew me. He probably thought he
did. But I am not an easy person to know.

I don't want to be an easy person to know. I don't like
anyone in my head and I don't like anyone crowding my space.
Not sure why. I've just always been like that.

He gave me a funny look that I couldn't figure out and then
looked down. He was a small guy and I've never been
attracted to petite guys. Shit, they might break and I don't
like to break my toys. I have friends of all different
nationalities but I have never been sexually attracted to
white guys.

They say like attracts like. For me, there is nothing like
having a beautiful, chocolate covered man, handcuffed, on
his knees in front of me, fighting it, fighting himself,
fighting me, trying to resist whatever it is inside of
someone that makes them want to submit to the will of
another. That sweet, heady illusion, of power and control,
gets me off.

I like big men, muscular, thick men, with thighs like tree
trunks and big, juicy round asses that I can squeeze and
grab onto when I'm tappin that ass, from the back, from the
side, on top, grinding my cock in nice and slow; that
ruthless, exquisite, excruciating, long glide that makes
them beg for it. Damn. It's been too long.

Something drags my eyes back to him. The guy at the table
next to me. He's staring at me again. His eyes latched onto
mine and wouldn't let go.

He had the kind of face that you just could tell was geeky
when he was around fourteen or fifteen. Ten or more years
later the face had a very delicate beauty. I knew that his
eyes were a hazy kind of grey blue, the color of an early
morning, foggy sky before the mist burns off. They were kind
of sweet and dreamy too. He had a long mouth with thin,
perfectly formed pink lips. The kind of mouth that looked
like it would smile a lot.

His nose. Well, I'm a nose person. The right kind of nose
can really turn me on. His was long, and narrow, just like
his face. He wasn't a tall guy but he has one of those long,
lean, wiry bodies.

Whoa. Nah. Ain't gonna happen. I look away.

Time for me to go. If I stand up, he's gonna be able to see
how hard I am. What the fuck. It's not going down. Not the
way I feel right now.

I can feel his eyes on me. I take another quick peek. Yeah,
he's still staring at me. Not boldly, just looking. Almost
beseeching me. Asking me for something.

Whatever it is, the answer is NO.

I stand up and I see his eyes drop to my crotch, widen a
little and come quickly back up to my face. Then he gives me
that look again.

NO.

I walk out and don't look back.