No Going Back

No Going Back

He was helpless. There was no going back.

There was no longer anything for him at home. No person. No place. No home or family to take him in should he even attempt to show up on their doorstep.

He had plenty of time now, in the rumbling darkness, to reflect on the events that had led him here.

Since high school he’d been kinky in a way that he wouldn’t have been able to put a name to back then. It was just the stuff he did sometimes when he was alone and had time to do more than sneak a wank in the bathroom.

It was only years later, towards the end of his college days, when he found his people online. The freedom of having his own place and high speed internet access led to more than a few late nights spent in front of the glow of his computer screen.

It felt at times like he’d finally discovered himself. The other things in life, the stuff he was supposed to care about, they were going well enough. His degree and recommendations had gotten him a good job, and he was making good money. He was glad it was allowing him the nice apartment on his own and the all the rest of it, but it didn’t seem to give the same sense of excitement or discovery.

Life moves in waves, in highs and lows. There were times his experimentation was intense, with hours and hours spent in front of the computer, accented with real life experiences, ranging from short, fleeting and intense to attempts to craft some kind of relationship framed by kink. And yet there were other times when he felt disgusted by himself, by the hours spent alone with his cock in his hand in the dark.

It was during one of those low periods, when kink felt empty and lonely, that he met Ellen. She was fun, she was beautiful, she was smart, and she seemed to actually like him. Hell, she even liked his friends. During their whirlwind romance, he was almost capable of keeping his mind, and his computer browser, away from the world he was trying to consider his past. But when he did relapse, his fingers could still type the addresses without thought, without need of any bookmark.

Every time he couldn’t stop himself, he felt a little more guilty, but then he would just set another milestone to stop for real this time. First, it was when she moved in. Then, it was when they got engaged. Then, for sure, it was going all stop after the wedding. Surely then, his life would feel complete?

He lasted a few months.

Everything seemed perfect about his life: he had all the work success and more than before. They had a great place and great friends and a great life. He loved his wife, his family loved his wife, and his colleagues loved his wife. They had a great group of friends. The sex was great – well, it was really good. He’d tried, more than once, to try to guide her into some fetish-type play, joking about fuzzy handcuffs or suggesting they go to that sex trade show that had the funny ads on the radio, but her reaction was disinterest or disgust.

So he tried to fill that hole during stolen moments. Those times when she went to bed early or was out for girls’ nights with her friends, or those overnight trips to visit her sister’s family.

As time when on, he got more adept and making a place for all this in a dark corner of his life. The problem was, that space kept getting bigger. His fantasies were invading more and more of his thoughts. He started to buy a couple toys that he’d play with during those secret times. He started chatting with other people online who shared his interests instead of just looking at images. In time, he finally arranged to meet and have an appointment with one of the professional Dommes he seen and chatted with online.

He should have known right then that he was lost. It was a transformative experience for him. Things he’d dreamed about became real, and he endured sensations even more intense that he had allowed himself to dream. He knew he had to have more, that he’d be back.

Thinking back, he couldn’t remember if she started talking with him, or if it was him. But she was different. She was from a different country for one, and she seemed a world away in other ways as well. She was younger than he was, but far more experienced. She knew just what she wanted – what she demanded, and she knew just how to make sure he felt the power of how it would be for him to provide it.

He didn’t stand a chance, once she’d decided that one of the things she wanted was him. She told him that, flat out, and he was flattered and terrified all at once. What did she mean, he’d wondered at first. After all, they were a world and an ocean away from each other.

She took her time, baiting the trap. When he became so enraptured by her, so that he knew he couldn’t imagine signing online without finding her there, she asked just how much he was willing to open himself to her. He wouldn’t deny her some simple information, would he? After all, if he really wanted to be her submissive, to be her plaything, to be her property, the time for these silly secrets was over, wasn’t it?

He could feel the smile on her lips, as she made it clear that even though he had no idea what she was going to do with this information, he was going to tell her anyway. He blushed in the dark of his office, knowing it was true.

His full real name? Sure, it was just a secret he’d guarded as long as he’d been playing online. His entire home address, right down to the street address? Where he and his wife lived, exposing his life to her. Why not? How could he say no? His face was read and his heart was pounding but his fingers were typing it and hitting send. His phone number, well that seemed almost easy at this point – his home number caused a bigger lump in his throat, but could he stop now?

And then, as if his life was not being completely laid bare before her and the most basic of online searches, he was typing out the name of the firm where he worked and their address. The phone number of his direct line.

When she stopped asking, that first time, he was a ball of panic and fear. What had he done? She reassured him, in her way. And when a few days had gone by and she hadn’t ended his life as he knew it, and he started to breathe normally again.

She didn’t ruin him, but she didn’t stop either. Her requests started to be more challenging, including details of his real life. When she commanded that he complete some task or shore or shopping trip in real life, the photos of proof were certainly not allowed to have his face cropped out of them.

She made it clear, with the details she mentioned about his life, that she was watching what he posted on his vanilla social media accounts. She’d ask about places he’d been to from Instagram posts, about relationships he had with Facebook friends.

She started to insert a physical presence into his life. Packages marked “personal and confidential” started to arrive at his office, and as soon as the online delivery confirmation hit the courier’s web site, she’d be giving him instructions on what had to be done with the contents.

It was dangerous, it was even terrifying at times, but it fed him like he’d never been fed before. Even when he’d tried to make his fantasies real before, he’d always stopped at a certain point – deciding that this or that was too risky, or could be too difficult to have a cover for. But now, he didn’t have the choice to chicken out like that any more. She decided.

He knew, somewhere deep and mostly unspoken, that he was safe in her care. She guided him and trained him slowly, but it was a care that was not soft or easy.

If that first session with a professional was a milestone, then this was another. He was walking back to his office after lunch on a sunny afternoon. His phone pinged with a text message. It was from her. He waited a second for the image attached to download.

He stopped dead in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat and he felt his face drain of colour. The image was him, seen from the back, walking down the street he was currently on.

The message that followed was short.

“You’ve got five minutes to call your office and tell them you won’t be back today, to turn right into the alley and find the back door of the pub. On top of the third garbage bin is a blindfold. Put it on, wait, and follow the orders my friends give you. Time starts now.”

He wasted half a minute in frozen fear, but then he called work, stammering about not feeling well. He walked quickly now, finding the alley – one of those ones just a bit too busy, with a quirky shop and hipster office facing it. Finally back to the bins near the oil stained asphalt of the pub’s back door. There was the black padded leather blindfold. He looked around, then put it on. It brought complete darkness. Just the sound of his heart and the fearful straining to understand the other sounds around him.

The hands that finally took hold of him were strong. A male voice spoke plainly, telling him that he was going to be helped into the boot of the waiting car and that he was going to obey like a good boy, and everything was going to be okay.

Before they put him in the car, he was handcuffed and gagged. The thud of the door above him and they were off driving, driving and bumping, until they stopped.

He never saw any of them, not as they took him out of the car, or brought him into some strange building, or stripped him naked. Not as they dressed and redressed him in what felt like tiny and humiliating outfits one after the other, or when he was told how to pose for the photographs. They teased and tormented his body with clamps and ropes and plugs and leather harnesses.

Unseen hands, male and female, touched and stroked his body until he was trembling with arousal, only to be denied release. He had no idea how long it was all lasting. After their chosen time, they were just done. He was redressed as he was when he entered – with the exception of being left in pink lace panties instead of his previous boxers, and dropped off at a subway station.

He hadn’t made it home yet when she had emailed him the first photo from this photo shoot. Another came a week later, mailed to the office. A third he was simply given instructions about where he’d find it in his back yard.

He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t even really scared. He felt bizarrely alive in a way that had never felt so complete. She was guiding him into a full life of submission to her, in a way that pleased her, and in a way that she knew pleased him to be able to serve her.

He knew by the end of the week. After begging her for permission, she graciously accepted his offer of what had been her plan all along.

He left his job. He left his home. He left his work. He left his family and their confused and angry questions. He left his possessions and he left his life, all back there and gone forever as soon as the plane had lifted off the runway. After seven hours of flying and then a train ride he was standing outside a strange and foreign terminal.

There was another text and another blindfold and another car. Another dark and rumbling car’s boot that he was bound inside of, but this one was taking him to her, to the life to be created out of service to her. Even if there wasn’t padded leather locked over his eyes, he wouldn’t be looking back.

 

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