Raw and Broken Ch. 01

In our final days, he spent the duration of our time in the private room hitting me with some object and getting off with his own hand. There was no intimacy at all. No sex. Not even orally. On many occasions, he couldn't even get it up if he wanted to have intercourse.

He never touched my face and only left marks that my clothes covered. Even though no one else could see them, I knew that they were there. He seemed to specifically plan our most intense sessions around when I was modeling. It wasn't until later that I found out he was getting a weekly schedule from my agent of when I'd have a photo shoot...and what for. She apologized profusely when I confronted her, that he'd told her some lie about me being forgetful and he didn't want me to miss any appointments.

Only once was there an issue. A photographer had wanted to change the date on a shoot for a bikini spread. I had to lie about having the flu because Jimmy had left welts on the backs of my thighs the night before. I later wondered if he had intentionally marked me to damage my chances on this career path as well.

I had been modeling for six months when we went to the club one Friday night after a long shoot that had been rife with problems. Half of the wardrobe had not been delivered. One of the models got glass in her hair when a light broke. And both the photographer's assistant and another model got sick from the yogurt that had been provided for breakfast. As a result, the photographer was in a bad mood and couldn't decide which outfits he liked better so we kept having to change.

I was so exhausted and just wanted to unwind once I got home, but Jimmy insisted we go out. I knew not to disagree. So I changed into the outfit he had laid out and followed him downstairs to catch a cab.

He surprised me by getting us drinks at the bar. We didn't dance, but I appreciated the chance to sit down for a while and let the music and alcohol relax me. When we did go upstairs, he laid me back on the bed and fingered me until I came. Then he had me kneel before him and suck his cock. But he wasn't getting hard. No matter what I did, it didn't help.

I cried as he grabbed my arm and jerked up to lean me over the padded saw-horse bench so he could spank my ass. He kept telling me that he had gotten me off, now it was his turn. After switching to a crop, he continued until the pain exceeded pleasure. I used the safe word, but he didn't stop. When I screamed at him, he pulled my hair and told me that he was my Master so I had to do what he said, which was to shut up because we both knew I liked it.

I was sobbing when he finally removed his arm from where he had put most of his weight on my back. He insisted we go dance, and he just snarled at me when I whimpered from the soreness as I put my clothes back on. Downstairs, I was thankful for the darkness to hide my tears. I really wanted to go home now, but I kept my mouth shut.

I was so tired, only his thick arm around my middle was holding me up. I couldn't even keep my arms around his neck. They flopped limply at my sides like a ragdoll as he moved us around to the music.

He must have been ready to give it a second try as he ushered me through the crowd toward the hallway and stairway that led up to the private rooms. He was holding my arm so tightly that I cried out. We were halfway up the stairs when he released his grip, which made me lose my balance.

I don't know if he intentionally pushed me or if it had been an accident, but I fell backwards. I screamed. The sound was lost in the loud music that was only slightly muffled in the narrow passageway.

I grabbed at the railing and succeeded in slowing my descent, but I jarred my left shoulder in the process. Although my upper body came to a stop as my hand gripped the cold metal bar, my feet kept going. The back of my head hit the wall as I landed with my left foot pinned underneath me at an odd angle, my right leg stretched out across the floor, and my body splayed lewdly across the last two stairs.

Jimmy yanked me upright before I could get my bearings and dragged me back up the stairs. Every hobbling step I took sent fire shooting from my left ankle and leg. My shoulder was no better. I had hot tears coursing down my cheeks, and I was biting my lip so hard from the pain that I tasted blood. We had reached the landing where the flight turned when a dark-haired man met us on his way down.

Maybe it was providence. Maybe just luck. Whatever it was, our eyes locked in the dim glow of the overhead lightbulb.

Did he see my wet cheeks? My swollen eyes? My trembling lips? The way Jimmy gripped me and I dangled at his side? I didn't know if the stranger would be a friend or foe, but I didn't have time to consider it.

I cried, "Help!" as Jimmy tugged on my arm again, making me stumble after him.

The stranger asked if I was okay, to which Jimmy yelled at him that I was fine and to get out of he way. Their next words were lost to me as I suddenly slumped to the ground in a heap of burning needles. The next thing I knew, Jimmy was sitting beside me, unmoving. His eyes and mouth were wide open.

The floor seemed to shake as someone else hurried down the stairs. Voices echoed around my head, and I struggled to push myself further away from Jimmy. I didn't recognize the woman's face that floated in front of mine before I closed my eyes against the worst headache I'd ever had.

Other people gathered around us on the landing. It wasn't until I was on a gurney in the emergency room and talking to a police officer that I was able to give the details of what had happened. That I learned my rescuer's name was Malcolm, and that he was in the waiting room constantly asking about my status.

Thankfully, I did not have a concussion, and my ankle was just sprained. However, I had dislocated my shoulder. It had been corrected, but I would need to wear a sling to give it time to fully heal.

As a result of my statement of the incident on the stairs as well as what had transpired over the course of the past year—culminating in the activities in the private room earlier tonight—Jimmy was arrested for domestic battery. The most embarrassing part was having pictures taken of my bare ass and legs that showed the marks and developing bruises from the most recent beating as well as the tumble down the stairs. But it was a hard truth I had decided to face, despite the consequences.

It seemed so ironic that I was reporting a crime in a club that had caused me pain when that is exactly what I—as well as others—went there to experience. It was amazing that the police believed me. That there were no repercussions against the club itself.

I went home to the empty loft. I jumped at every little sound, thinking Jimmy had been released and was coming back. I sat up all night going over every detail of our relationship. What I had missed, and what I had allowed to happen. I swore I'd never get into another kinky relationship again.

A couple of models I knew from work helped me move out the next day and insisted I stay with them. Although they asked a lot of questions, I kept my answers simple. And despite not divulging explicit details, I found that I had a lot of support.

It was a miracle to hear Jimmy didn't fight the conviction. He was sentenced to thirty days imprisonment with probation and a fine. I also learned more about him after the ordeal than during the entire time I'd been with him. Like the fact that he was in the porn industry. His job in "entertaining" was really as a male actor in adult films. Which explained how he could afford the upscale loft. And his cryptic answers to my questions about liking the theatre. Show business was still show business, whether on a stage or in front of a camera.

From what the police told me, he mostly did bondage scenes where he inflicted acts upon willing female actors. So basically, he got paid to be a Master with multiple slaves and submissives. Rarely did he have sex with them, which explained his virility with me most nights. After a day of being kinky with no release, no wonder he was raring to go once he got home. The only reason the police revealed any of these details to me was for my own health. I'd never been more scared and then relieved in my life while I waited for those HIV test results.

I was also told I wouldn't have a problem with Jimmy in the future. But I was still anxious as the date of his release drew closer. I hadn't needed to worry.

I had enjoyed the modeling I'd done in the city, but I loved acting more and thought that would be my profession. I was going to auditions again as well as looking for a part-time job. Neither were successful, though. So when my agent called with an opportunity to do some modeling abroad, I told her to put my name in the pool. If they rejected me, my position would be no worse than it already was.

Someone involved with the overseas job recognized my headshot from the prospective candidates. He not only liked my portfolio, he'd seen several of my performances with the troupe the past summer. As a result, I went with five other girls to Europe for five weeks where we were treated like royalty. We visited countries I'd only dreamed of. Ate at restaurants where I couldn't read the menus. Attended elite fashion shows. Wore expensive clothes. And it was all funded by our sponsoring modeling agency.

It wasn't difficult to immerse myself in this new life. To convince myself that I could make a career out of being a model, as cutthroat as that world was. But at night when I was lying between Italian sheets, I would remember the life I once led back in the states. What my inner self desired and wanted. Just not with Jimmy. And the occasional results of that lifestyle didn't mix with being a model, in my opinion.

When I returned to Chicago, I continued to model but also got my job back at Starbucks. Which is where Malcolm found me one afternoon. He was meeting with someone else who had failed to show up. Providence again?

We spent my break talking about my time in Europe. I don't know why I trusted him, but I opened up when the conversation turned to fetishes and our experiences thus far in the lifestyle. By the time he left, he'd convinced me to meet up with him the following Saturday at the club for lunch. He called it a munch, a meeting and meal with other people who had similar sexual interests. I was hesitant, but he promised he would be there. And I could leave at any time.

I was nervous about returning to the scene of the crime. About conversing with others who had kinky predilections. Whenever I'd been to the club with Jimmy, we hadn't talked to other people. I had never told anyone else besides the police and Malcolm about what we liked to do behind closed doors.

To my surprise, everyone was very pleasant. And except for a couple of initial questions of how I was doing—the knowledge of bad incidents seemed to stick around for awhile in that world—Jimmy's tirade was quickly lost to other kinky topics. By the end of the two hour session, I'd completely relaxed.

The more I was around him, the more comfortable I felt with Malcolm, too. I also felt protected. There was no chemistry between us. Absolutely none at all. Which was surprising because he was incredibly easy on the eyes. And it wasn't hard to miss the glances and stares from other women when I was with him. But he was more like an older sibling. And the feeling seemed mutual. Plus he had that redheaded gal I'd seen him with at the club and then at the hospital, although she didn't attend the munches.

After going to half-a-dozen meetings—all with Malcolm by my side—I learned that I shouldn't shun the lifestyle because of one bad experience. I just had to be more cautious going forward. To set some ground rules. Like learning everything I could about the different roles and determining exactly which one I was most comfortable with...as well as defining any hard limits.

I chose right then and there to suppress my masochistic desires until I was absolutely certain that they wouldn't be used against me. But it shouldn't be an issue. I was in no hurry to get into another relationship, there was no one at the munches that I was even remotely attracted to, and neither of my jobs gave an opportunity to meet someone in that respect.

The attendance at the munches was usually thirty to forty people. From the conversations there, I gathered that they were regular patrons of the club who were weren't in serious relationships or were, for the most part, unpartnered. The latter of which also included not only myself but also Malcolm, as I found out.

He offered me a proposition as he drove me home from a meeting one day. He asked if I would be a demonstration model for the weekend dungeon parties he held in his own home. Nothing sexual. He thought it would be a good opportunity for me to get back into the scene without actually being committed to someone. When I questioned him about his own partner and why she didn't come to the munches, he just said that it hadn't worked out between them. I didn't press him, swallowed any lingering fears, and accepted his invitation.

After almost nine months, I grew used to working at Starbucks and the occasional modeling gig during the week. I stayed home on Friday nights to unwind with my roommates. Then there were munches on Saturday afternoons in the city and dungeon parties at night. Since I didn't have a car, Malcolm would drive me to his house in Wheaton after the munches and bring me back to the city on Sunday mornings. He said it made him feel good to know at least one of his spare bedrooms was finally getting used. When the other guests dispersed to have play time in the private rooms he had fashioned in his basement, Malcolm and I retired to his den upstairs to chat or watch movies.

On most occasions, I demonstrated rope-bondage techniques. Or rather, they were demonstrated on me. Malcolm had revealed that it was his favorite fetish early in our friendship. When I wasn't being his kinky model, I just helped host.

Once, I allowed him to use a variety of implements to demonstrate spanking, cropping, and flogging. He'd left the decision up to me, and I had considered it for two weeks before agreeing. Malcolm maintained that I wasn't abnormal for having masochistic desires. I just needed to experience them within my own boundaries. And with someone I trusted.

I made it through the session without even wanting to use a safe word. And I got more than just a little aroused. I was afraid to tell him that he didn't have to treat me so delicately—that he had rekindled a fire buried within me—but I let it spill during our aftercare time following the session.

He admitted that he was intentionally being gentle with me, coaxing me back into the world he knew I longed to be in. Too much too soon would damage the work he'd done with helping me between the munches and his parties. All the relaxation techniques he'd tried with me to make sure I was comfortable for his demos would be worthless if I felt I couldn't handle them or have the power to stop them at will.

Life was good again. I didn't know where it was going, but it was good. And that was enough for me.

One particular weekend, Malcolm couldn't join me for the munch and had cancelled his Saturday night party. I was confident enough to attend the meeting on me own. We'd lost a couple of regular attenders who had moved away, but for the most part, the faces were still familiar. Except for one guy.

He was several inches taller than me—and I was five-foot-seven. He had dark hair, broad shoulders, and a clean-shaven face. He kept to the outskirts of the group and merely observed. I had a hard time concentrating on the topic...I was too distracted by this handsome stranger. After the meeting ended, most of the group usually stuck around and continued chatting. But he slipped out without speaking to anyone. I spent the afternoon wondering who he was...and what the heck made his kinky clock tick?

I met up with Malcolm at the club the next Friday night at his insistence. I hadn't been back there except for the munches. It was the same place but with a different atmosphere. The darkness made memories flood back the moment I stepped past the guy guarding the inner entrance. Malcolm had assured me it was a safe place for me. They wouldn't let Jimmy back in if he showed up. Still, I couldn't help but look around for my ex as we stood at the bar and waited for our drinks. Not that I could see anyone clearly with the main light source bouncing around in a multitude of colorful beams.

Malcolm led me to a table and squeezed my hand. I eventually relaxed and slouched in my chair. I had missed enjoying the ability to disappear with the music pounding around me. Being back here was good.

My back straightened, though, when the mystery man from last week's meeting walked up to our table. He kept his gaze on me while Malcolm talked to him, which made me blush. Even more so when the corner of his mouth turned up.

Surely he hadn't been able to see my reaction? I resisted the urge to sweep my hand through my hair. I don't even think I breathed until the man returned to the shadows from which he had appeared.

A couple of girls from the munches stopped by, and Malcolm said he had to leave early. He offered the empty chairs to them and gave my hand a final squeeze before disappearing himself. I really couldn't talk with the girls, but it was nice to see some familiar faces. We did a little dancing on the edges of the sea of glowing bracelets. Then that was cut short when their green bracelets attracted male counterparts. I wasn't ready to find anyone new, so I had chosen to wear a yellow bracelet, indicating that I was visiting and just looking.

Part of me was jealous that they'd found partners so quickly, but I reminded myself that it was just sex to them. One-night stands. And I knew where that could lead to. So I sat back and closed my eyes, getting lost in the music for another hour before I took a cab home.

The next munch was the following afternoon. I liked that they had one every Saturday. It gave me something to look forward to, especially if I had a rough week at work. Sometimes just talking with like-minded people helped ease my tensions. Especially since I didn't have a way to release them like I used to. Would I ever trust someone that much again?

Neither of the girls I'd danced with last night showed up to the munch. I was wondering what had happened after they'd disappeared, but then I saw Malcolm. I had every intention of asking him about the mystery guy he'd been friendly with last night, but the couple running the munch had planned for a demonstration instead of the normal meal-and-chat session for the meeting and wanted to get started.

By the time we'd been shown a rather unsettling display of needle play, I was thankful that they'd chosen to skip the food. I was feeling a little light-headed and started toward the door for some fresh air. Malcolm stopped me, though, before I could make my exit.

I turned around to stare into the deepest green eyes. And they belonged to the mystery man.

He didn't speak. I couldn't have responded anyway. There was a lump in my throat, and my heart was beating loudly in my ears. The corner of his mouth turned up, just like last night. Almost as if he were challenging me. It was a staring game, but instead of blinking, we were waiting to see who would be the first to breathe. To speak.

Malcolm broke the tension between us by introducing me to his new friend, Drake, who held out his hand. When I shook it, I lost the battle as a soft sigh escaped. He had such a strong grip. Controlled. Warm. A vision of him gripping my body as he thrust into me suddenly filled my head. Shivers raced up my back as I blinked the thought away, wondering where it had come from.