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Daphne

Even at that point, I actually had no idea that anyone had even referenced my fetish. The loudmouthed person who posted the comment to tease me about it had apparently taken it down about ten minutes after, realizing that maybe they shouldn't put up that much info (like an idiot), and I never even saw it, but that leads to... Okay, maybe I should explain a little of my secret life, or try to.

You know how everyone has that hidden shadow self, if you believe in Jungian psychology? For me, I felt like I was made up by a lot of my shadow self. That dark side that craved pain, that got off on being hurt and degraded and humiliated in ways to shock some sensibilities felt like the larger part of who I was. The good side felt like a mask. The day after Harry told me about this book, for instance, I liked my boots and a fluffy zebra backpack and the color pink. I was happy Daphne, the one everyone adored. I was good girl Daphne, the Blond-head that always behaved herself.

But I also had a date that night. Not a date-date. I mean that I had plans and those plans involved getting to indulge in play piercing. Just the thought of the terror when the magic needles pierced my back made me shiver in delicious anticipation, made me smile more sweetly than ever so that people loved the happy Daphne all the more. Things that would make me mad otherwise were things I let go because I would think of the sharp, singing pain and release, the way the blood would well sometimes. Just the knowledge that I was going to indulge made me deal with the rest of life better.

I've never been very good at describing masochism or why it makes life so much more for me, but I can try! You see, there's an adrenaline rush that follows the hot sensation of sharp pain, but it's more than that too because even before that there's a build of human instinct, of fear. Nature tells us to run from pain, to avoid it, and it gives us incentive to do that with things like fear. But if you force yourself through the fear? If you wait for the sharp crack of the cane or if you go tense with anticipation for the pierce of the needle? There's a split second of baited breath that's like waiting at the top of a roller coaster and, if you've been terrified of heights at the top of one of those, you probably know that sensation of staring into an eternity for one second. And then it's over. For the roller coaster, you drop.

For the pain, it hits like a hot blast and you have to breathe through it, have to endure it. Every time feels like this challenge, too! It feels like something to take, not something that's just easy to coast through. It feels like a trial and a triumph and then there's just the aftershocks of bliss and giddiness. I love pain. I don't know why. All I know is that I was born with this addiction to feel thrill and, sure, things like skydiving would work, but pain is readily available, I've learned. And you can do it safely, if you're careful and you know what you're doing.

It took me time, but I had learned when it was okay to be my darker side around people because there for a while I hadn't wanted to put my mask back on. I had wanted to just be that side of me all the time, but I had figured out that I couldn't do that. So I made sure I could indulge all I liked, without getting myself killed in the process, and I kept my shadow self close to my heart because I loved her. It's a big part of that Jungian philosophy that you embrace the dark side and I had. I don't know if it works for everything, but it worked to make my life all the more exhilarating to do it. I'm no longer the Ice Queen of Slytherin. I became his happy face next to my friend Tracey.

So now, I was just happy all the time. I started to see these moments as the good Daphne as Halloween moments, like playing a game. I was a maso slut in good girl school uniform, a good girl who wasn't good, a happy girl who was sinful as hell. The only downside was that people didn't like me anymore once they got closer to me. The kinky people were definitely the most accepting, but even they thought I was too much to ever date. The Sadists and Doms in had all mostly figured themselves out and everyone has hard limits, you know? Which is good! They should. The trouble was I didn't actually have many limits of my own and I didn't even really have specific fetishes either.

I was into the really dark things, the hard humiliation that would make me see stars with adrenaline and thrill. I'd done some things that I'd never thought I would be into because a sadist spun the scene the right way. That's how I got into watersports really hard for a while, actually. There was a guy who was into it and I was adventurous enough to try most things out, even if they made me a little wary, but sometimes people will do something just the right way. That first time trying piss play had been one of those times. He'd called me a foul fucking whore and told me I deserved it for being so goddamn dirty. It hadn't even been anything particularly violent, you know? It'd just been this wicked condescension and filthy thing and God, that was exactly what I was into. Being brought low, being brought to tears, being made to take something while being told I deserved it for how much of a bad fucking pureblood girl I was.

But that meant that I hadn't really found a sadist that fit well with me for some obvious reasons. I didn't have so many limits, so I had to be careful for a start. I also didn't dig on the high protocol domination and I was really submissive, definitely, but it was usually only a mindset I could keep hold of in the bedroom. I was too much of a flirt and I was a formulaic bundle for jealousy. There were all kinds of issues with my trying to date someone who might be into everything I wanted to do and try.

But I think the easiest way to describe the entirety of it is to say I had too much of a dual nature. I was submissive, except not always. I was happy-go-luck, except I was violent. I was the good girl stereotype at first sight.

I was anything but good.

With my true self, I would scare many a Death Eater

—

He can always claim that I had hand in these breaking moments, by the by, but he had some play in it, too! His book, for instance.

I ended up buying his book about a week after he told me about it. I had to wait twice as long for the owl bookstore to fetch my order. I didn't always go out, believe it or not, and it had been a while since I'd read anything, an embarrassing amount of time. I sometimes didn't have a lot of time and I loved talking and flirting with people, but reading was just good for the soul. Sometimes it felt nice, even to my chaotic self, to start a bedtime routine where I'd just read a few chapters. Okay, that wasn't all of it either. If I'm being honest with you, I really liked Harry. He was calm and I wasn't. When I felt a little too excited or anxious, I could go to him and find him for lunch and he always just let me guide the way while I prattled on and on. He never seemed like I stressed him out either, which was something I worried about since I seemed to stress out a lot of people by being high energy all the bloody time. And sometimes he had this dry sense of humor that was all the more funny because he was so shy about it. I just... I liked him.

So I remembered the book he mentioned and started reading it. It took a few nights before I got the context of the book and when it sank in the direction the content was taking, I remember jolting upright in bed, horny and excited. See, the place in the book was built on the ideology of "Love as thou wilt". That was the creed, but here's the really interesting part. The main character had a spot in her eye, one that marked her as belonging to a specific god of the world.

The god of punishment in a creed of "love as thou wilt".

I disappeared for a three day span, excepting lessons, and I finished the book in those three days. Once I reached a certain part, I just couldn't put it down. It was so good and it was kinky as hell. The involvement of things like gods made the atmosphere all the darker and the language of the book was almost flowery, which contrasted the content and made it stand out all the more. It wasn't light either. It had things like blood play, things like branding. It made my heart race, made me feel this nervous flutter in my stomach. It's true that I'm a hell of a masochist and I've played with some scary fucking people, some still wanted by law, but here's the thing you learn from something like BDSM.

Life is about contrasts. For instance, I've played with some sadists who will soothe their submissive with a soft kiss while they're hurting her and pressing her limits and that one kiss is enough. In the midst of all the violence and roughness, that one brush of softness seems like the most gentle thing in the world because of the contrast. Well, that goes backwards too and it goes for other things in life. Harry and I had been talking for a while by then and at first it had started out as my curiosity, but it had turned into something more. It turned into interest and this warm sensation of being near his calmness, of him just letting me talk myself out of all my pent up energy. But the thing is, in all that time of talking, not once had he mentioned anything vaguely sexual, not even to make a joke. He didn't even look at me the way some guys did, the way they'd stare at my tits or something. He was always nice, always easy going, and he never crossed that barrier.

And then he gave me a book and the contrast made me feel... it made me feel shy, almost nervous. It gave me butterflies. I bounced on my toes while waiting for him before lunch and I wasn't even planning on telling him I wanted to get that. I was planning on something else.

He smiled when he saw me and it had taken months, but he even looked at me when he said hello now. "Hey, Daphne."

"Hi." Oh, man. I was way off my game. He paused and just waited like he always did because he didn't seem to ever like making decisions. He still left that up to me. "Um. I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure." How was his voice soft all the time? And he liked the book title he had given me! I had a million questions. What did he like about it, was it the kinky stuff, what parts of the kinky things did he like, did he want to know more, what did he already know? And something else had occurred to me too. His mentioning that book had seemed a hesitance, so why mention it to me?

I finally managed to burst out a squeaky, fearful question, my moment of shyness. "Would you want to come over for a date at my quarter? By that I mean I'd really love it if you did." Was that too needy? Was it not forward enough? I didn't want to give him anxiety.

It turned out to be just perfect. He met my eyes before he inclined his head in that submissive way he had. "I'd love to." And he had this smile at the corner of his lips that said he meant that.

His smile was gentle still and it was something that soothed me.

—

I moaned to myself in the bathroom at lunch, wondering why I had asked him for a spur of the moment date. My panties and bra didn't match and it was good luck to have them matching. Actually, it was also a habit thing because I'd taken to dating sadists when I felt frisky and it was a "just in case" thing. This wasn't like those dates. I was trying to figure him out. I wondered why I had been so fascinated with him from the beginning, wondered about him in general. If I saw him in my rooms after class, was it too obvious if I changed after work? Would it be weird if I did? Did people stay in things like their work clothes for something like that? My thoughts went a mile a minute and that was just the start. They didn't shut up. What was I going to do with him? What did I want to talk about? Okay, that was fucking dumb because I knew what I wanted to talk about, but I didn't know him well enough yet to just outright ask him and wasn't sure how to segue into that and I had so many questions and-

"Hello again." The thoughts shut up as soon as I said it.

"Feels weird not going the other way."

I snickered at that, leaving with him from the class. I asked him how his day was, where he politely asked me the same. I'd forgotten how basically easy he was to talk to because I definitely just... talked back. It was calm and it relaxed me actually, even while I still had these butterflies. I'd think about his book every now and again and get excited, get horny too. He had these shy little smiles that made my heart flutter every now and again. I think even then I had a feeling as to what I was going to do. People didn't open doors unless they wanted to go to the other side or wanted someone to come through to their side. I had definitely opened a door.

It was a physical one when I my rooms home and stood to the side, letting him in. I'd learned topics of conversation to draw him out by then too and I had asked him about Hermione and Ron on the way to my apartment. He looked around when he got in and even flirted a little. He did that cute thing where he ran a hand through his hair and I couldn't decide if it was a nervous tic or not anymore. His smile gentled his teasing. "I thought for sure you'd live somewhere much louder." He laughed and my thoughts were back to racing because I hadn't thought this through. I hadn't thought about what I wanted to do and I'd been acting on pure impulse, was still running on impulses, and they were all over the damn place, too. They were absolutely in control with the next words out of my mouth. "I read your book."

"Which- oh." He blushed, catching on quickly. "Yeah, I haven't fin-"

I didn't let him finish because those damn impulses had me again. I hoped to God I didn't scare him off, because I had questions. Even so, I clasped my hands gently to his jaw and pressed my lips to his.

Catching him off guard with that kiss was the best thing that ever happened in my life. He wasn't dominating, wasn't controlling. He didn't pull my hair or anything like that. All he really did, in hindsight, was cup a hand to the side of my neck to pull me closer, but it wasn't just that. It was how he was so obviously engaged and interested. He tilted his head and I tilted mine and we just fit together. I don't know if that makes sense or not, but he moved in this perfect reaction so that it was just... right. My heart raced and then there was what it led to.

He moved his hand on my neck, just slightly, just enough that his thumb brushed my pulse and I lifted closer for more of him. His hand didn't even tighten, not really, but I had all these thoughts and I pulled away, not really thinking about what I was saying when I whispered, "Harder. Please... please." I went back to his kiss and he hesitated, returning it with that hint of shyness before-

He did it. His thumb tightened and it wasn't even that hard but God, the bloody contrast. I whimpered, whining against his lips, so that he pulled away with a sharp inhale and stared down at me, watching me. And there was this pure spark in his eyes, this sense of basic excitement that made me thrill. He hesitated again, then softly asked, "More?"

"Yes, please! Please!" He pressed his lips back to mine and he gave me more of those light, almost gentle touches.

It was like this magic. It made me feel like a teenager again, made me feel nervous in all the good ways. His touches weren't mean at all, you see. They were experimental and they had this sense of playfulness. It was like he would gauge how much I liked different touches on my throat and he kept it to that at first, too. He'd stroke his hand to feel how it fit against the front of my throat, while I kept him distracted with kisses so he couldn't think too much, and he'd press just slightly, teasing, smiling when I moaned up against him in response, when I begged. He pet his other hand around the back of my throat and smiled again when I tried to bow my head at the slight touch, when I went to be more submissive. There was something about being held around the back of the neck that just made me want to bow, made me go still. He curled his hand up around my jaw so that I gasped and arched. My mind was a blank and I was happily all feeling, happily licking almost innocently at his lips while he gently licked back, his hands still around my throat so that I felt like I was in some stasis of submissive need, that moment right before subspace hit.

I had to pull back, had to come back to, and he stopped as soon as I did, watching me when I grabbed his hand. "Wait, come here."

"Yeah?" His voice turned husky when he was turned on, almost hoarse, and it still held that softness.

I tugged him over to my big cozy chair and gently pushed him back so that he sat down. "There." I curled up in his lap while he watched me, while he blinked as if a little shocked he might find himself in the position he was in, which was something I empathized with. I shut both of our thoughts up by pressing my lips back to his and snuggled closer into his arms, taking a moment to realize that he was really hard and it made me wet and needy for a lot more to know it. But then I grabbed his hands and I knew what to do with them with what he had shown me so far. I placed one back around my throat and one in my hair.

"Pull," I whispered against his lips.

His breath caught with arousal and excitement and mild shock and all the emotions that were really good signs. He did that cute, sweet, arousing thing where he hesitated, so that I waited with baited breath, and then he pulled this hard, tentative little tug.

Contrast is everything in life. Happiness is all the more delirious after sadness. Feeling warm is all the more satisfying after playing in the snow.

Light, controlling gestures are all the more noticeable after gentleness sometimes.

I squealed hotly against his lips, then whimpered, arching so that his hand tightened around my throat again, so that I whined and tilted my head to let him have easier access. "Oh, please! Squeeze tighter?"

And he did it.

I also invite you to my p atreon.

New content every day.

There is a chapter available on my p atreon: 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9

pa treon .com(slash)pandorastories (remove the space)