Lucifer's Lover

I’m very embarrassed to tell you this but I think I’ve become a sexual deviant. That might be putting it a little harshly but I don’t know how else to put it. I’ve always had little fantasies, you know, things that you would never even tell your best friend about but I’ve never really taken them seriously. They were all tucked away safely in the deep recesses of my mind to be pulled out and examined only rarely.

That was until I met Luke.

I don’t know why I took him home. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never been that kind of girl. Honestly. I was raised Catholic and though I’m not a virgin and I don’t practice my former religion, some patterns are hard to break. Besides, I’m thirty-five and past the age where a one night stand is irresistibly intriguing.

Of course, my first night with Luke was far from one night stand material.

My friend Melissa had taken me to a fetish club on a whim. She’s like that, adventurous and wild. And she’s my best friend because she does drag me around on randomly interesting outings that are sure to leave us laughing.

Melissa had decided that I needed a little pick me up when she discovered that I was having a self-pity party in my pajamas on a perfectly wonderful Saturday evening. She never stands for that kind of behavior even if I am totally justified in obsessing over old boyfriends or wondering if I will ever find the man for me.

I don’t even remember the name of the club she took me to or how to get there. I blocked it out of my memory most likely because one cannot admit to actually knowing about a place like that. Can one? Of course, it’s too late for me to be prudish now. I might as well wear a leather bustier and fishnet stockings to the office along with a color coordinated whip, that’s how deeply perverted I have become.

Again strong words, I know, but something in me is not completely comfortable with what I am capable of when I have Luke in my bedroom.

Anyway, Melissa and I ventured out to a fetish club in Los Angeles. It was dark inside as it was lit only by the flashing lights from the dance floor and a few candles flickering on sconces along the outer walls. The music throbbed and pulsed loudly but it was not enough to entirely cover the occasional sound of a whip crack or a resounding cry for mercy. Around the edges of the large main room there were curtained rooms where the bolder club goers indulged themselves. Next to each room there were signs with coded descriptions of what was going on behind the black velvet drapes and either an invitation to come in and observe or a command to stay out.

Melissa had handed me the sheet of paper that the leather clad greeter had handed to her so that I could pick my poison. While I perused it, she opened every curtain we past and peeked in.

“You’ve got to see this one,” she had said and shoved me through into one of the rooms where I found a woman outfitted like a pony and a man getting ready to. . .

Well, what was going on at the club is not the point. What is important and what changed my life forever was that as we were treating ourselves to night of delicious voyeurism a man walked up to me and introduced himself as Luke.

My friend promptly abandoned me which is, according to her, precisely what a good friend should do when a hot guy approaches.

And he was very hot! Tall, dark and handsome doesn’t do him justice. Luke has curly black hair that always looks slightly rumpled in the sexiest of ways. His dark eyes are the loveliest shade of green that I have ever seen. And his body . . . he cannot be for real but since I’ve touched him, he must be. I'm getting ahead of myself but he has the kind of body that makes you want to run your hands over it just to experience what such precision feels like. Not that I bothered with a detailed inspection early on. I was much to infatuated with the opportunity he presented than I was with his beauty.

Anyway, that night Luke was dressed in an exquisitely tailored black suit that should have made him seem out of place at a sex club but didn’t. He looked like he owned not just the club but the whole block. And I stood there like an idiot staring at him wide-eyed and drooling.

“I think I might have what you have in mind,” he said to me, not seeming to have to yell to make himself heard over the music.

“Oh!” I said stupidly.

“Yes,” he said, and smiled, playfully amused by my awkwardness.

“Why don’t we let my driver take your friend home, hm?” He continued. “So that we can take our leave.”

“Well, I . . . .“ I stammered.

“Excellent,” he purred and the next thing I knew I was driving him to my house in Melissa’s car.

Strange, I know! But he had this pull about him. I couldn’t resist and the bells and alarms that should have been going off in my head just weren’t. The idea of it scares me now but he turned out to be, well, not what I would have expected.

Once we got to my home, a little ranch style house on a cul-de-sac that is still green though I have vowed to paint it for years, I gave him a short tour. Lame, I am aware, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. When I was done showing him my unremarkable kitchen, Luke took my hand and led me back to the bedroom. He sat me on the edge of my bed, gave me a mysterious smile and began taking his clothes off. I watched him wide-eyed, dry-mouthed and rapt.

When he was completely naked, he reached forward and took my hands to raise me up. He put my hands on his bare chest and then his expression changed from the mild amusement that had been present since we’d met to a kind of weary longing.

“Do what you want,” he whispered to me. Immediately, as if he had called them forth, images flashed in my head that I recognized from my private fantasy collection.

“But . . .” I started in a feeble attempt to rescue myself.

Luke just shook his head at me.

“Do what you want,” he said again.

And I did. I was new to the, uhm, B&D scene so I didn’t have any nifty toys but I found that all of the equipment that I need was at my fingertips. The mind gets very inventive when you are being guided by such deep desires.

And that is how it started. He offered and I took. Now our relationship has developed into so very much more.

I, uh, have a toy box now. I have metal shackles and chains that are hard and cold against his warm skin, supple leather bonds that can be pulled cruelly tight and woven ropes and strong silk cords for when I want to get creative.

And once I have him where I want him . . .

There is nothing quite as satisfying as the thrill one gets from the use of a whip. The abrupt and ruthless sound of the crack it makes against the skin and the gratifying vibration that travels back into your hand are exhilarating. Not to mention the tortured cries that it brings from my Luke. But somehow, no matter how anguished his screams become there is always a hint of a contented sigh, a whimper of pleasure, beneath all of the pain. That’s how I know that he hasn’t had enough yet. When all I get is a dreamy moan, I know it’s time to stop.

That’s not to say that I don't use other methods to torment him. There are ways to make each part of the body suffer and I have toys to fulfill my every whim.

I initially collected items that amused me but then I started to choose things specifically designed to see if I could get him to refuse me. But he never has. And more than that he manages to do everything so willingly. Without fear, without shame.

I had always understood that, with these types of fantasies, it is often the submissive party’s specific desire that is being fulfilled, not the dominant’s, so that the lines are clearly drawn. But Luke asks for nothing and denies me nothing. He just comes to me and gives himself over.

I honestly don’t know how he does it. He has yielded himself to everything I have asked of him, so I have kept asking for more. He has literally become mine. Mine in a way that makes words like lover, property, and slave inadequate. And I love him for it.

When I’m at work I daydream of finding him naked and chained to my bed when I get home. He opens his drowsy eyes, stretches, and welcomes me home with a sufficiently submissive smile. It is love that I feel when think of him waiting for me in chains, not lust. It is an exotic mix of the fondness one feels for an obedient dog and the burning ardor of young lovers. It is dark and wild and totally intoxicating.

And through all of it, Luke is exalted by his surrender not demeaned by it. His love is made more pure and more perfect than mine could ever be. I often feel as if I am the helpless one because I am in awe of him. I am demanding and brutal but he stands before me with calm trust and not look away.

Like I said, the nature of our relationship has become as frightening as it is exciting.

There was one minor disagreement that can hardly be called a disagreement at all considering how Luke resolved it.

For the first few weeks that we were together, when I took him to my bed I was so excited that I reached my climax easily. Then one night I needed a little more help to, you know, get things going, but he was too focused on himself to notice. When he was done, laying on me breathing roughly . . . I flipped out a little.

I’m normally not bothered by such things. I mean, I’m next, right? But perhaps because of the nature of our relationship I could not allow it.

I pulled myself out from under him, turned away like a haughty princess, and I told him to get out. Playing the martyr is always a favorite ploy. Guys are supposed to recognize it and play along. But Luke didn’t. I was truly angry however some well chosen words would have probably have cooled my temper. But I think he was too involved in his role to take me at anything less than face value.

Luke looked crushed. Absolutely decimated. But, of course, I didn’t occur to me at the time that his expression was anything other than a trick to get me to relent without the necessary begging. So, I let him collect his clothes and remove himself from my house.

Two weeks later, an eternity when you consider that he had been coming over every three days or so, he was at my door again. He never calls, he just shows up, leaving me to wonder how often he goes away disappointed that I’m not at home. I think that it is part of the game for him but I’m not sure.

When I opened the door, he just stood there looking at me desperately as if staying away so long had been the hardest thing he had ever done. As if he were willing to pay any price to be taken back.

I let him in immediately, I had been waiting for him for days, and without any direction from me, he went straight to my bedroom and stripped. So, I made him suffer because it was what he expected, it was what he wanted, and when I was done he was as hard and ready as he always has been.

To say that he was eager would be a vast understatement. He flowed over my body like water. He did things I have never experienced before and wouldn't know how to ask for even if I knew what he had done. And I am almost certain that if I had not grabbed his luscious butt and drove him deep inside of me, I'd still be in my bed now being tended to by my ravenous lover.

Since then, Luke has refined himself into a gentle and attentive lover. But now I can’t get him to climax before me no matter what I do. His control is amazing. I know because I’ve tried to break it. He simply will not do it and it scares me because it forces me to recognize how fragile he really is. All I did was kick him out and he was so miserable that all he wanted was to be punished so that he could be forgiven.

It makes me wonder what kind of ordeals he has been through that have made enduring my lash so fulfilling and offering such obedience so satisfying. And I know he enjoys it. I just don’t understand why.

It was after that incident that I started to be more careful with him. I started to move away from simply using his body as my personal stress reliever. There are other ways for him to submit to me and I began to explore them all.

The next time he came to me I asked him to kneel for the first time. You would have figured that I would have gotten to that sooner but was not a sophisticated mistress early on. He gave me a startled look that I had not expected and I thought for a second that this would be a line that he would not cross, but then he eased himself gracefully down on his knees and bowed his head.

It struck me immediately how perfectly natural he looked in the pose he had chosen. His knees were slightly apart as he sat back on his heels and supported his lowered torso with palms laid flat on the floor in front of him. His hesitation seemed strange considering how elegantly he assumed this subservient posture.

I reached down and lifted his chin to bring his eyes to mine. And I think I saw the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes before something he saw in my face brought his trust back. I smiled, led him to the couch and laid him across my lap. It was then that I discovered the simple pleasure that could be had by caressing his beautiful body. Each curve and angle seems perfect and there is something pleasing about the firmness of his muscles that I can't quite describe. Of course, the exquisite shivers my touches cause and the soft pleading noises that he eventually begins to make only add to the experience.

But despite my discovery that he also enjoys more subtle forms of obedience there still is something a bit off about how submissive he is, how much pain he can take, and how his mere presence elicits such a passionately violent response in me.

What bothers me even more though, and I don’t know why, is that sometimes when he orgasms he sort of, well, he sings out in a foreign language. When I asked, he told me it was Icelandic but I don’t believe him. There is no reason why he should know Icelandic.

And besides, I feel those words resounding in my head and reverberating in my bones. It feels like what you would expect love to feel like if someone could wrap you up in their emotions. It feels how I imagine worship would feel like if that word really did have a sensation. I know that sounds corny but it’s what I feel.

I’ll have to ask him about it next time I see him. And I think it’s time I took him out to dinner first.