Under Control: A BDSM Love Story

Author's Note: SO, so sorry for making you all wait so long, but I just started my Fall semester in college so I won't have as much time or energy for writing. I spent all day on this one cause I love you guys so much :P I really hope you like it since it was very difficult for me to write. Please leave me constructive criticism, as it's always appreciated. Thank you!



I lay in bed that night, completely and utterly unable to sleep like many nights before it. But it was different this time. This night I was not plagued by thoughts of the present. I was tormented by memories of my past.

I turned over in bed so that I was facing the alarm clock on my bedside table. In the dark, the red digital numbers stared at me. It was already two in the morning, and yet I did not feel sleep coming on. I groaned in frustration, pulling one of my pillows over my head. The activities that happened previously in the day ran through my head again and again till I thought I would scream. It was all so confusing. My mind wandered back to what happened after six o’clock.



“Step into my office, Delilah,” I heard Hector’s voice behind me, making me almost jump out of my seat.

I hesitated at first, my mind still running at a thousand miles a second. But I knew I didn’t really have a choice. I was noticing that a lot lately. Slowly I stood from my chair, my eyes cast down as I avoided making eye contact with Hector.

I made my way inside his office, standing in front of his desk as he had commanded. I could hear as he closed the door behind himself, then came around to sit in his arm chair.

“That is unnecessary, Delilah,” he said, his voice soft. “We are not on the business clock right now.”

I couldn’t speak, so I opted to trudge slowly over to the leather couch, where I sat down rigidly. I remained that way for a while, staring at my hands folded in my lap. The silence went unbroken for a long time.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Hector said at last.

Of course I had no idea what to say. I was still horribly confused about everything. What did he expect? Wasn’t he the one who had bent me over his knee earlier? Just thinking about it put my stomach in knots.

“Delilah,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

Slowly, timidly, I lifted my head, forcing myself to look at him. His perfect face was statuesque, though he looked almost a bit concerned.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he repeated evenly.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, which was all of a sudden inexplicably dry. I wracked my brain for anything to say. My head was such a storm of emotion that I could hardly pick out any one thing. Quickly I pieced together the only thing that made sense at the moment.

“It’s getting dark out,” I murmured, unsure of why I said it.

“That isn’t what you wanted to tell me,” he said, his eyes gleaming.

I took a quivering breath. “I don’t have anything I want to tell you.”

“Is that right?” he mused, and I fell silent. “Why do you feel the need to lie to me, Delilah?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I didn’t. I looked down at my hands again, any semblance of courage having fled.

Although I was not looking at Hector, I knew he was staring at me in that intense way of his. I could feel his eyes boring into me like a red-hot poker. I bit my lip nervously.

“You want to tell me how much you hate what I did to you earlier,” he said, and I jerked my head up to look at him.

“What?” I managed to croak.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Sir, I don’t understand--”

“Don’t,” he said, his voice raised. “Don’t call me that right now.”

I snapped my mouth shut and looked down again, feeling the tears of resignation coming once more. It suddenly occurred to me just how tired I was. Tired of life; of being stepped on. I became aware of the rising urge to kill myself again.

“Why don’t you just fire me,” I whispered in spite of myself. “Just get it over with already. I’ll only disappoint you.”

“You stop that,” he hissed, seeming uncharacteristically angered. “This is not who you are, do you understand?” He leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowed. “You are not this weak.”

“But I am,” I said, hanging my head sadly.

“No,” he said with finality. “This is the person you have let others mold you into. Your mother, your father, your boss, everyone.” His voice lowered. “Everyone but yourself.”

I looked up at him again, my eyes wide. “What?” I breathed out, being held by his gaze.

“I want you to tell me right now,” he said, leaning back in his chair once more. “Tell me what it is you’re keeping inside of you.”

“But--”

“If you don’t,” he interrupted, “it will chip away at you until there is nothing left. And what then?”

I closed my eyes, letting tears slip out. “I don’t know,” I murmured.

“There will be no Delilah left for me to help,” he finished.

I couldn’t say anything to that. I knew he was right. All my life I’ve been chipped away; scratched raw by the words and actions of everyone around me. The truth was, I was a doormat for others. Even I had the sense to realize it, though I didn’t want to. Hector was right.

“So what do you say?” he added, pulling me out of my thoughts. “It’s about time you tell me what you’ve been hiding. Will you?”

I looked at him a moment, unsure of whether or not I could trust him. I wanted to, Lord knows I did. But I was afraid, so afraid. It wasn’t just a matter of whether or not I wanted to, it was a matter of whether or not I could. This was something I had kept inside of myself, bottled up so tightly that eventually it had become part of who I was. It determined how I acted when upset, how I interacted with other people, and how I viewed myself. Was I really willing to put this out there? How could I trust him? Would he still care about me afterward? Part of me was screaming at me not to even entertain the idea of telling him. But I wanted so badly to get better; to be normal again.

“My mom used to say it was like a poison,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “She could see the change in me. Of course she didn’t know why, because I had never told her. She was as much in the dark about it as you are. Drugs, bad kids, boyfriends, whatever; she came to every other conclusion except the real one.” I stopped for a moment, bringing my legs up on the couch and hugging my knees close to my chest. “How could she know, anyway?” I said, my voice becoming even quieter. “She was the breadwinner after my father was laid off for the billionth time. She was gone all day and most of the night, constantly pulling double-shifts and overtime so that we could have food on the table. Most of that money went down my father’s neck in the form of alcohol.” I sniffed loudly, a bitter look on my face. “She even knew it. But I guess she thought that as long as he was getting drunk at home, he wasn’t out getting into trouble, so she never stopped him. I was just a kid, but I could still see their marriage falling apart.”

I grew quiet for a moment. Even as I was reliving my past, my mind was blank. I was going into that place in my thoughts where nothing could hurt me. My defense mechanism, as Dr. Martin would say. I took a breath before continuing.

“The first thing to go from their relationship was sex. They slept in separate beds, and they never touched each other. And the further they drifted, the more my father drank.” I curled up even more, hoping I wouldn’t relive everything in my head as I was telling it. “I guess that’s when he started noticing how much I was growing up.”

And it really did become too much for me. Everything from my childhood bombarded me all at once. Let’s play a game, I heard in my head over and over, and I suddenly became nauseous. But I couldn’t stop, not now.

“He told me to keep it a secret,” I whispered, dimly aware of the tears streaming down my face. “Told me that if I loved him, I would never let mommy know, and that if I did tell her she wouldn’t love me anymore. So I didn’t.” I shivered, feeling extremely ill now. “He called it our game,” I groaned in disgust. “Cherry-picking, he said. But I knew it was rape, and there was nothing I could do.” Now I was sobbing, making my words almost incoherent. “He made me call him daddy when he did it. Made me watch in the mirror next to his bed as he did it to me.” As I finished the sentence, I realized I was going to vomit. Fortunately Hector held his trash can under my head just in time. I hadn’t noticed him getting up to do that, but I was thankful nonetheless. I threw up until there was nothing left, and I kept spitting and spitting, hoping that if I did it enough times I could spit out the horrible memories.

When I was done, I groaned softly and collapsed on the couch, breathing heavily. Hector went over to the water cooler near his desk and drew out a cup of water, then brought it to me. I accepted it and drank it eagerly. After I finished it he placed the cup on his desk and came back over to me, sitting down beside me on the couch. He remained silent a moment, and I knew it was because he was thinking hard about what he would say next.

“As your psychologist, I must say that indeed you have had a difficult life, and I can understand why you have held all of this inside for so long,” he said at last, slowly and evenly. He paused a moment before continuing. “But as your friend, I have to admit I would like nothing more than to kill that man for what he did to you.”

I looked at him, coming back to awareness at last. There was pure hatred etched on his face, his brow furrowed in anger and his jaw clenched tightly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He shot a look at me. “Don’t you dare apologize for that monster’s actions.”

I shook my head. “I mean I’m sorry for throwing up in your trash can.”

He looked at me a moment longer before letting his anger lift. He gave me a small smirk and gently patted my knee. “It’s just trash. Nothing I had any intention of keeping.”

I sat up, letting out a slow breath. “Now you know my big secret.” I turned my head to look at him, my eyelids heavy from my crying. “Still think you can fix me?”

He seemed almost startled by the question, but after a while he shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You just need help seeing the true Delilah within you.”

“You think you can do it?” I asked hopefully.

He met my eyes with his, and slowly reached his hand up toward me. He smoothed my hair away from my face and gave me an assuring smile, something Hector Davis rarely did. “I will do everything I can to help you find her.”



I turned over in bed once more, my heart pounding hard as I remembered all of this. It had been a rough day, and usually I would be extremely tired under circumstances like these. But somehow I just couldn’t drift off. I thought back to when he drove me home.



In the quiet of the car I could almost hear him thinking about how much he hated my father. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. When we had reached the parking lot, he switched the car off and turned to me in his seat.

“If there is anything you need, anything at all, I want you to call me,” he said, giving me a meaningful look.

“Are you sure?” I asked timidly. “I mean, I don’t want to bother you.”

“Delilah, I don’t want you talking like that anymore,” he admonished sternly. “You are not a bother to me. I want you to call me whenever you need me. Do you understand?”

I nodded timidly.

“Good,” he said, giving me a wan smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. Alright?”

I nodded again, letting myself return the smile. “Thank you for everything, Hector.”

“Hey,” he said as I was about to open the door. “It’s my pleasure.”



I stared at the phone, biting my lip and debating whether or not I should call him. I didn’t want to trouble him, and even though he denied that I was a bother I couldn’t help feeling like I was. He had a job to do, and I didn’t want to wake him from a sound sleep. I began to realize I was feeling down on myself again, and before I knew it I had picked up the phone and dialed his number.

He picked up on the second ring, which surprised me because I usually encountered his answering machine first.

“Hello, Delilah,” he said in that smug way of his.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, sitting on my loveseat.

“I figured,” he said. “That’s funny because I couldn’t either.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he said, and I could hear the creak of his chair on the other end as he sat down. “Funny, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” I said with a sheepish grin. “Why are still at work this time of night?”

“This is my mobile phone number, dear,” he mused. “I’m surprised you hadn’t already guessed that.”

“I hadn’t,” I said, feeling like an idiot.

“No worries,” he said with a chuckle. “Now you know you can call me any time you need to.”

Oddly enough, the idea was reassuring. “I guess so,” I agreed.

“So,” he said with a sigh, “what would you like to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” I murmured, feeling a bit embarrassed. I hadn’t planned out what I would say. “I’d like to go to sleep so I can wake up early, but I just can’t seem to.”

“I know,” he said, “why don’t I tell you a story?”

I let out a breath of laughter. “A story? Isn’t that a bit juvenile?”

“Or I could sing you a lullaby,” he added.

“I’ll take the story.”

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hmm….” He paused for a moment, then began. “There was a girl who lived all alone in a tower of stone.”

“I know this one,” I said. “It’s Rapunzel, right?”

“Just listen,” he scolded. He waited a moment before continuing. “This girl was beautiful, though she didn’t know it, for there were no mirrors in her chamber. She was kind even though she had never been shown kindness, for she knew that being good to others had its own merit. She lived all alone in her tower, but she did not have to. She did so out of choice. And do you know why?”

“No,” I replied.

“Because she did not feel worthy of the company of others. So she sheltered herself inside of her stone tower, forsaking the sun, and love, and all that was good.”

“Why?” I asked, and I could feel my eyes growing heavy.

“She was afraid,” he said sadly. “You see, she had been hurt before. Hurt more deeply than any physical pain could ever reach. And so her faith in humanity had all but died completely.”

“Well, what did she do?”

“She built her tower ever higher, so that each day she grew further and further away from the world below. And she grew ever lonelier, looking down at the things she might have had if she had never been hurt the way she was.” I could hear the creak of his chair, and I knew he was leaning back.

“Then what happened?” I whispered, closing my eyes and letting his words come to life in my mind.

“One day, someone saw her as she sat alone in her stone tower high above the world. He called out to her, saying, ‘My fair maiden, why do you live alone so high in the sky?’ She replied, ‘I am sorry, good knight, but I cannot tell you.’ And so he left her, sad and dejected.”

“Is that it?” I asked.

“Hold on, I’m getting to the good part,” he said, and I shut up again. “The next day the knight returned with a ladder, and he placed it against the tower so that he could climb up to join the maiden. However, his ladder was far too short, and so he could only look up helplessly and cry out, ‘Fair maiden, why do you live alone so high in the sky?’ Again she replied, ‘I am sorry, good knight, but I cannot tell you.’ And so once more he left her, even more sad and dejected.”

“Is there ever a happy part to this story?”

“Honestly, is it really that hard for you to wait?” he asked, amused. “The very next day the knight returned again, this time with the longest ladder in the whole kingdom. He placed it against the tower and climbed up, this time making it all the way to the top. He said again, ‘Fair maiden, why do you live alone so high in the sky?’ She replied, ‘I am sorry, good knight, but I cannot tell you.’ And with that, she pushed the ladder from the tower, causing the knight to fall to his death.”

I waited for more to come, but Hector remained silent. “That’s it?” I asked incredulously. “What a horrible story.”

“I didn’t say it would have a happy ending,” he chided.

“Well… can’t you change it? I mean the whole thing was so depressing. Can’t there be just one happy part?”

“Alright,” he said. “The knight fell to his death--”

“I said happy,” I reminded him.

“Let me finish,” he said, and I went silent. “The knight fell to his death. The maiden was saddened by this, but in her heart she knew she could not be with anyone. The pain was still there, deep within her. She continued to live alone in her tower high above the world. Until one day, when an old mystic came and looked up to her. ‘Fair maiden,’ he called out to her, ‘why do you live alone so high in the sky?’ She replied, ‘I am sorry, good sir, but I cannot tell you.’ But the mystic did not give up so easily. ‘Ah, you must tell me, my dear, for the truth is what will set you free from your pain.’ Still, she would not tell him. This continued on for three days. On the last day, the mystic scaled her tower wall with powerful magic, and she was unable to escape the fear of him knowing her pain by pushing him down as she had to the knight. She refused to reveal the truth with all the strength within her, until finally the mystic pulled something from his robe pockets.”

“What was it?” I asked, enthralled with the story.

“A mirror. As she saw her own face in it, she realized what she had done. She knew that through her struggle to keep her shame a secret from the world, she killed the one person who had cared about her.”

“Oh,” I said, barely noticing my eyes welling with tears. “What happened then?”

“Well, she told the mystic her story of course. She told him of the evil troll who had stolen something from her; a prized jewel that contained all of her dignity and trust. But the worst part of all was that there was no way to take it back from him, for as soon as he touched it, it turned to dust. The mystic, deeply saddened by her story, bowed his head in reverence. ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ he said. ‘It is true that there is no way to recover your jewel, my sweet maiden. But for now, I hope that this will help to ease your suffering.’ He handed her the mirror. ‘What is this for?’ she asked. ‘Whenever you are afraid or confused, gaze into the looking glass and you will once again know who you are. That will be a comfort amidst all your uncertainty.’ And with that, he left.”

“Wow,” I breathed, wiping tears from my cheeks. “That was… interesting.”

“I do my best,” Hector said with a chuckle.

“So how does it end?”

“The maiden did not come down from her tower, but she did not continue to build it up. She took the mystic’s advice and gazed into the looking glass when she was feeling sad or lonely. The mystic, who had been very deeply touched by the maiden’s affliction, took it upon himself to bring the knight back to life. He used magic to revive the knight, but it took many, many years before the poor knight awakened. Until then, remained in a state between two worlds, ever wondering why the beautiful maiden was so alone in her tower in the sky.”

“That was… bittersweet,” I said, stretching out on the loveseat and yawning. “I liked it a lot.”

“Good,” he said, pleased. “I can tell it at least made you tired.”

“It was the repetition that did it,” I mused with a smile.

“Ah, I see.”

“But it really was a beautiful story,” I insisted groggily. “I hope one day you will get it published or something.”

“No,” he said, “I’m afraid not. This story was made especially for you.”

“What was the maiden’s name?” I sighed, my eyes slowly closing as I began to drift off.

“What do you think her name should be?” he asked.

“Delilah,” I murmured.

“Alright then,” he said. “Delilah it is. And now you should go to sleep.”

“Goodnight,” I whispered.

“Goodnight, Delilah,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.

Almost immediately after I hung up, I fell into the deepest sleep I ever had in my entire life.