WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.

Chapter 11

I just... watched him walk away.

The parking garage was dark and cold and deafeningly quiet. The only sound was the pounding of blood in my ears. What the hell just happened? What did he know? What did he want?

I couldn't move. I just stood there, staring into the darkness, watching the black emptiness where he was standing only seconds before. I kept replaying the scene over and over in my head. The want in his voice. The need in his eyes. The secret surrender in his steps. When he bowed his head and stepped back, wordlessly submitting himself to me, I was overcome with emotion. I wanted him. Jesus, how I wanted him.

The problem was, I didn't know what I wanted from him.

He was different, not like the others. Yes, I wanted to possess him and control him, like I did with them, but I wanted more. I just needed to figure out what that "more" was.

I don't know how long I stood there, but I eventually climbed into the car, drove home, and found myself pulling into my garage. I don't know how I got home. I don't remember anything about the drive, but my head seemed to clear when I pulled up to my house. Maybe it was familiar surroundings.

I walked into the house and threw my keys on the island in the kitchen. It was so quiet. I looked at the television monitor on the counter and felt a wave of anxiety course through me. There was no reason to turn it on, nothing to see. My basement was achingly empty.

I poured myself a brandy and downed it in one swift motion. As the harsh burn of the liquor grew in my chest, I poured and downed another one, but then quickly returned the bottle to the cabinet before I drank myself into a coma. Of course, that's probably what I needed right now, to be lulled into an unnaturally-induced stupor. The more I thought about it, the better that idea sounded, and I decided to throw a little gasoline on my fire. I grabbed the bottle of Lortab from my purse and quickly swallowed two, with another shot of brandy. This was shaping up to be an outstanding evening.

I held the snifter tightly, warming the amber liquid with the heat from my hands. I brought the glass to my nose, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply. The scent was delicious and inviting, and it made my fingertips tingle. Or maybe it was the two glasses of brandy. Or the third glass of brandy. Or the Lortab.

I had tried to keep Cullen out of my head, but my ability to control my thoughts was eroding in direct proportion to the increasing effect of the brandy and the pills. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to do so many things to him.

I found myself standing in front of the basement door. I unlocked the door and walked carefully down the creaking wooden stairs. The bed was empty, stripped of sheets. It looked painfully naked in the small room. I sat down on the edge of the bed and ran my trembling fingers across the satiny pillowtop. It felt smooth and slick, like sweaty skin. I was losing my edge along with a tenuous grasp on my self-control.

I thought of the last boy who had shared my secret basement bed, James. And then I thought of the first, Paul, so many years ago. I was just figuring out who I was then and what I wanted. He was my experiment, my self-initiation.

It all started, of course, with Ben. Ben was my first, in so many ways. He was my first lover, and he introduced me to a sexual world that I didn't know existed.

New Orleans was freeing to me. I didn't really remember living in Phoenix, other than the small world my mother had created for me before her death. School, sleepovers with friends, watching movies on the couch, playing in the sprinkler in the summer while my mother worked in the garden. I had no concept of how big the city was, I just knew that I was happy in the parts of it that touched my life.

But I remembered Forks. In great detail.

I remembered the lack of privacy, the lack of culture, the lack of open-mindedness. Just... the lack. Everyone knew everyone else. Everyone knew your business. I was established in their minds before they even met me - I was stamped as Chief Swan's daughter, the girl who was standing so close to her mother when she was murdered, that she was covered in blood and other bodily fluids. It made me a freak, a side-show attraction. I could never erase that image from everyone's minds, and I would forever be labeled. I could never escape it. I never had a chance in Forks. I was doomed before my plane landed on the tarmac in Port Angeles.

But New Orleans... A big, beautiful city, teeming with culture and people and anonymity. For the first time in my life, I felt hope, hope that I could be somebody. I could be anybody. I just had to figure out who I wanted to be.

My relationship with Ben was the beginning of that discovery.

It was kind of funny, actually. I never had a boyfriend growing up, so I didn't really know what to expect. I would look forward to my weekends in the French Quarter, to seeing Ben, like a giggling schoolgirl. Looking back on it now, I realized that he was not my boyfriend, not in any sense of the word, but at the time, I didn't know any better. I thought about him every waking minute, and each week I would count down the days until Saturday would arrive, carefully applying my makeup, fixing my hair, to please Ben.

At night, when the lights were off in my dorm room and my roommate was asleep, I would allow myself to remember the hours we had spent in his apartment, "playing," as he called it. I would stroke myself, under the covers, as I replayed the events in my head. I would recall actual events, things that had occurred between Ben and me the previous week. But as I became more and more aroused, the thoughts in my head would transform from memory to fantasy, and I discovered a darker, twisted part of me: the last thought before I climaxed, every single time, was of Ben screaming for mercy... my mercy. And not roleplay screaming. Real screaming.

At that moment, I would come, and come hard. I would have to cover my face with a pillow so that my roommate wouldn't hear me moan and pant.

I would lay in my tiny dorm bed, covered in sweat and tingling from head to toe, and the guilt would suddenly overwhelm me. I would barely allow myself to enjoy my self-induced orgasm before the questions started. What was wrong with me? Why did I have these horrible fantasies? When would I be normal?

I continued to deny what I really wanted, and every Saturday night, Ben and I would play our little games. It was a vicious cycle... anticipation, arousal, release, guilt, denial. Never forgiveness. Never acceptance. I never allowed myself to try to understand what was happening to me. I would simply bury these feelings, pretend they didn't exist.

My senior year, I was assigned an internship at a local advertising agency. It was a small company at the time, but it had a great reputation, and it was quite a coup to be assigned there. I was ecstatic. Finally, all of my hard work, the term papers, the studying, the late nights at the library, all of that was about to pay off, and I would be recognized and appreciated for what I could contribute.

I walked into the office on my first day, dressed in the only business suit I owned, determined to stand out.

And stand out I did.

It was like high school all over again. There were ten of us, the senior interns, but they all knew each other. And for years, apparently, some all the way back to high school or earlier. The boys were all dressed alike, khakis and polo shirts and boat shoes with no socks. The girls were dressed alike as well, although some had khaki skirts instead of pants. They wore twinsets and pearls and penny loafers with no socks. It was like I had missed some secret memo about dress code.

Actually, I felt more excluded than that. It felt more like they were members of a club, a club which had denied me access. I was once again the outsider, looking in.

We were all gathered in the main conference room, waiting for the president of the company to give us the standard "you can make a difference if you work hard" speech. It would be the first and last time we ever saw him. Everyone was animatedly chatting away, catching up on summer vacations and the latest gossip. I found myself thinking about Ben, about what I had been doing over the summer, and I wondered what they would think about that.

That's when I realized that they were whispering. And stealing quick glances at me over their shoulders. And snickering. They were not terribly subtle, and I guess they never had to be. They always got what they wanted, and they looked down their noses at anyone who was different. It made them feel better about who they were. Or maybe who they weren't.

"... that ridiculous little suit!..."

"... where's her briefcase?..."

"... a whole year, stuck with that?..."

All the old feelings rushed back, the inadequacy, the humiliation, the anger. I had worked so hard since I came to this city, to remake myself, to become someone new, someone powerful, someone in control. And it all seemed to disappear after spending a few minutes trapped in a room with some interns.

The president finally arrived, and everyone quieted down. There were still hushed giggles here and there, but his presence in the room was commanding, and we instantly feared him and respected him. I decided right then that that was what I wanted: to be feared and respected. I was in awe of him.

He started his speech, pretty standard stuff, except that I was imagining how I would feel when it was me giving the speech, scaring the interns into submission. I smiled.

During the course of his speech, however, he called some of the interns by their first names, which confused me. We were all here for the first time, how did he know their names? As he spoke, he referenced some of their parents, by their first names, and it all clicked into place. He knew them. He knew their parents. Mommy and Daddy got them the job. I felt pretty confident that I was the only one here who had actually earned their placement, and I'm sure I would have to work twice as hard to keep it.

Now I knew where I stood. I knew what I was dealing with. The rose colored glasses were off, and I was looking at the world as it truly was, not how I wanted it to be.

The first week went by quickly. I had scheduled all of my classes in the mornings so that I could work the afternoons at the agency. I would stay late each evening, after all of the others had gone, learning what I could, offering assistance to anyone who needed it. I was determined to prove myself, and to show everyone that I was better than the polos and khakis set.

By the time Saturday night arrived, however, I was ready for a distraction. I had so much pent up frustration and anxiety from my first week at work, and I needed Ben to help me release it. I called him and told him I would meet him at his apartment, not at the club. I needed to quickly get down to business, and I didn't have the time or patience for games this week.

When I arrived at his apartment, I stood at the door and just listened for a moment. It was quiet inside, as it should have been. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I was in control here. This was my world now. I knocked softly on the door. If he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, he wouldn't be able to answer. So I waited.

Nothing. No movement. No sound. Excellent.

I used my key and opened the door.

The lights were off, but there were several candles scattered around the room, giving it an eerie glow. Ben was in the middle of the room, kneeling, sitting back on his heels. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes cast to the floor.

He was completely naked.

Perfect.

I shut the door behind me and turned the deadbolt. I dropped my bag and my keys on the small table by the window, and I walked slowly around Ben, assessing him from every angle.

"Good... very good," I murmured softly. He shivered slightly as I ran a finger across his bare shoulders, but he didn't move or make a sound.

"Up," I directed him. "Up on your feet."

He did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room, eyes still on the floor. I moved until I was directly behind him and whispered in his ear.

"Ben, sweetheart. I've had a really tough week. I'm afraid I have some frustrations that I need to work out. And you're going to help me." My hands were resting on either side of his waist and I slid them forward until I could stroke his hard, flat abdomen. He sucked in a small breath, but otherwise remained quiet. I ran my tongue along his ear and then down his neck.

"Mmm..." I murmured in his ear. "You taste so good..." He was mine, and I could do whatever I wanted to him. I loved that feeling, that I owned him, that I controlled him, that he belonged to me and me alone. I slid my hands up his chest and brushed across his nipples with the pads of my fingers. He moaned a little. Very softly, but I could hear it. I pinched this time, a little harder, and he gasped.

"Yes... you like that, don't you? I know I do," I sighed and I ran my tongue between his shoulder blades as I gave his nipples another hard squeeze. "Give me what I need tonight, sweetie, and I'll give you a special reward. I know just want you want..."

He was fully aroused now, it never took him very long. Of course, he was half-hard when I walked in the door. Something about being completely naked, on your knees, waiting for your Mistress to arrive.

"Go on in the bedroom and wait for me on the bed, on your back. I'll be right there." I slapped him on the ass as he walked away, and it made the most wonderful noise. I would have to remember to do that again. Tonight. Repeatedly.

I gave him a minute to get positioned, and I grabbed my bag from the table and walked into the bedroom.

Jesus. That sight still made me hot. He was naked and laying on his back, arms reaching above his head, legs spread wide. I dropped my bag on the dresser and start rifling through it, looking for all the toys I would need. I could see him in the mirror, waiting for me. I glanced at the chair next to his bed where he had undressed, his clothes neatly folded.

I froze.

He had been wearing a pair of khaki pants and a pink polo shirt. The uniform of my enemy. It evoked in me every bad feeling that I had that week. All of the frustration, the inadequacy, the anger, it all came rushing back at once. Everything changed. It was like I had one of them in front of me right now, one of them finally under my control.

"Flip over. On your stomach. Now." He hesitated, just for a second, confused about the change of plans. I, however, was not confused about what I wanted, and I began to bind him to the bed, face down, before he finished turning.

His arms were pulled straight over his head, wrists crossed, and secured to the headboard. His legs were spread wide, each ankle cuffed to a corner of the bed. He was bound in such a way that movement would be difficult for him, if not impossible. This was exactly what I wanted.

I grabbed the leather strap from my bag, and stood at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, and admiring my handiwork. Fuck if he didn't look delicious tied up like that, completely helpless. I knew his fate was completely in my hands, and that feeling of power was coursing through me like a drug, like nothing I had felt before. Whatever this was, I wanted it. I needed it.

I hadn't even started yet, and I was out of control already. I knew that I should untie him and walk out the door before I did something that I regretted, but all I could hear were the snickers of my fellow interns from earlier that day. And he was here. They weren't.

The strap came down with a loud and satisfying crack.

Harder than I intended, yes, but there was no turning back for me now.

He gasped and fliched, pulling at his bindings. He looked confused, unsure what he had done to warrant such a severe punishment, but what could I tell him? Sorry Ben, but you just fucking wore the wrong clothes today.

I brought the strap down again.

God, that sound.

Again.

Fuck, that was hot. His ass was coloring up, a nice warm shade of pink. I had never been this excited before, the throbbing,wet ache between my legs growing with each strike.

Again. And again. And again.

I was moaning now, desperate for release. Ben was crying. The more he cried, the harder I hit. I was enjoying his pain like I never had before.

I was in some sort of trance, an out of body thing. But I kept going. Each crack of the belt empowered me, made me stronger, more confident. I had never known exactly what I needed until now.

Ben was screaming.

"RED! RED! Please Miss Swan, please stop!" It took me a moment to process what he was saying. My arm kept swinging, never stopping. He was begging now, his face covered in tears, full of pain, and anger, and... fear. He was afraid of me... And I liked it.

RED. The safeword. He was screaming the safeword, and I hadn't stopped. Damn it. What had I done? Jesus!

I dropped the strap to the floor and sat on the bed next to Ben. He flinched away from me, his eyes wide with terror. He was trying to pull away from me, but his bindings wouldn't allow it.

"Shhhh... Ben, it's okay, it's over now. Shhhh." I stroked his hair and tried to speak in a calming voice, but he didn't trust me, and why should he?

"Calm down, baby, shhhh. Relax and hold still, and I'll untie you." That seemed to register with him on some level, and he quit trying to squirm away from me. He looked like he was barely keeping it together. I was hoping he would stay calm, accept what had happened, and move on.

I grabbed a bottle of cooling skin salve from my bag and showed it to him. "I'm going to rub some of this on your backside." He flinched and hissed a little, trying to pull away again.

"No, no, no, this will feel good, I promise, it's very soothing, very cooling. It will make you feel better, heal faster. Please..."

He didn't say yes, but he didnt say no either. He just held very still, bracing for whatever else might be coming. I unscrewed the lid and covered both hands in generous amounts.

I sat on my knees between his legs and touched my hands to his red, raw backside. I could feel the heat coming off the skin the closer I got. I kept my touch light, and spread the cooling lotion across his skin in a soothing circular motion. He winced at first, the icy cold of the lotion warring against the white hot heat of his skin, but after a few seconds, he relaxed, feeling the pain melting away. The same hand that had given him the pain was now taking it away. This was not lost on him.

After a few more minutes of aftercare, I felt that he had calmed significantly, and I removed his feet from the ankle cuffs, one at a time. I rubbed some more of the salve on each ankle, where the cuff had rubbed, and then his hips, sore from being held open for so long.

I finally reached his wrists, and as I released him from the headboard binding, he drew inward, his body curling onto his side into a fetal position. I rubbed some of the lotion into his wrists, erasing the soreness from being so tightly bound and stretched.

I thought he might bolt out of the door as soon as he was untied, or maybe he would attack me, try for retribution. But instead, he just curled up on the bed, shivering, his eyes tightly shut.

I thought about what just happened. About what I had just done. And I did feel badly about hurting Ben. But I didnt regret it.

I stroked his hair, trying to calm him, to reassure him. He had no idea what was going on with me, but of course, neither did I. I was just learning myself. But he was truly innocent. Undeserving of what went down tonight.

"Ben." I spoke calmly, softly, but with authority. I wanted him to know that it was over, that I wouldn't hurt him again, but I also wanted him to know that this was my decision. That I could still do what I wanted, but that I was choosing to let him go.

I had a realization at that moment.

The domination games, that lifestyle, that was not for me any longer. It never really was. It was not truly who I was, or what I wanted.

That lifestyle demanded a consensual agreement, an equal partnership.

That was no longer was I wanted. I wanted the real thing. Real fear. Real pain. Real screaming. I wanted to look into their eyes and see their true submission, their admission that I had complete control over them and could do whatever I chose to do.

I packed up my things and told Ben that I couldn't see him anymore. I hoped he would understand. He really didn't argue. I think he was glad to see me go.

I walked out of the apartment that night a new woman. A woman with a plan, with goals, with needs. A woman who knew what she wanted. Now I just had to figure out how to get it.

I walked out of Ben's life that night, and I never saw him again. I never returned to the BDSM club, as well. Both of those chapters of my life were closed. A new book was beginning...

I was still in the basement, lying on the empty bed, lost in illicit daydreams of my past. The incident with Ben was unfortunate, but necessary. I was never truly comfortable with our arrangement - it never felt right to me. I always knew that I needed something else.

I hadn't realized it, but as I was remembering my last night with Ben, I was touching myself. Oh God, the look in his eyes, the way it made me feel. Nothing had ever aroused me as much as that.

My fantasies quickly took a turn, as they always did, and my darker side took control. Images of Ben, bound and begging, the crack of the strap on his skin, got me closer and closer to my goal.

At last, I felt tingling in my toes, and that warm feeling started moving up my body, surrounding me. The orgasm hit hard, and as I came, I realized that it wasn't Ben's face I saw... It was Edward's.

Cullen. Bound. Begging.

I had waited long enough. It was fucking time.

Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.