I guess it keeps the area cleaner, but even more than that, it’s supposed to make you more relaxed. I pick at the bit of nail polish on my toenails as a sigh leaves me.
“Are you alright?” she asks, seeing my distress.
I huff a small laugh, resting my chin on my knees and looking up at her. “My Dom punished me with a belt last night.” I’m shocked at how easy the words come out. As if it’s normal. As if I’m normal.
Shifting in her seat, Sandra takes off her glasses. Her brows are pinched as she taps them against her lip. “And how did that make you feel?”
I almost chuckle at how much like a stereotypical therapist she sounds. But I don’t have any humor in me. I push my hair out of my face and consider her question. It made me feel alive. And wanted. But that ended far too quickly. Too good to last.
It takes Sandra a moment to realize what caused my reaction, the faint huff of a laugh at her question, and when she does, she sets her glasses down on the end table and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Dahlia, you’ve simply caught me a little off guard. Would you mind expanding for me please? I’m not sure what you mean by ‘your Dom.’”
It’s time to just let it all out. Let it flow.
I suck in a deep breath, feeling that oppressive weight on my chest. Slowly, I exhale and begin to tell her everything about Lucian, except I leave out the part about the auction. I know there’s doctor-patient confidentiality, but I don’t feel comfortable telling her. I don’t want to. Sandra listens to me intently while I weave my tale, almost frozen like a statue, her soft eyes compassionate.
“Okay,” I say, letting out a soft sigh. I debate on how much information to give her. Our names are in the paper, but I still feel uncomfortable saying his last name. “As you know, I’ve never been able to get off without fantasizing about being… raped.” I swallow thickly as a surge of shame, guilt and worthlessness threatens to overwhelm me, but I squeeze myself tight, warding it off. “But I finally met someone who I felt could help me. Lucian.”
“And this man is your Dom?” she asks.
I nod my head, and continue as she jots down notes. “All I had to do was be his Sub and let him take control, and the rest would come naturally.” I look over at Sandra, wondering if she knows enough about BDSM to be familiar with what I’m talking about.
Sandra’s very still, but she doesn’t look confused, her eyes assessing me inquisitively. “By 'his Sub,' you mean his Submissive?”
So she does know a little something.
I nod my head.
“I see,” she says softly, doing a little gesture and then scribbling something on her notepad, “Go on.”
I gulp down the lump forming with my throat. “When I became his Sub,” I shake my head, my chest feeling increasingly tight, “I finally felt like I was in control, knowing I could stop my fantasy any time I wanted. I could safe word him and it would all stop. I had that power.” I sniff, tears burning my eyes. “But at the same time, Lucian had no idea how messed up I was, and he was unknowingly giving me what I thought I needed. Until…” The tears threaten to spill down my face and Sandra reaches for a Kleenex on the decorative stand beside her chair, but I gesture for her to stop. I’m trying to be strong.
“Until?”
“Until he forced my secret out of me,” I sigh, my voice a whisper thick with emotion. “I’d been trying to hide it from him from the start, but he knew something wasn’t right with me.” Even he could tell I was broken.
“And what happened next?” Sandra asks.
“He said he could help me.” I breathe the words, closing my eyes and remembering. “I was really shocked.” I look back at Sandra, and she’s nodding. “Up until that point, no one’s really understood. My exes sure as hell didn’t.”
“So, that must’ve been really encouraging for you then,” Sandra remarks. “Knowing that you found someone that not only understood you, but was willing to help you.”
God. This lump is growing so big I’m going to choke on it. “Yes,” I say and nod my head. “But I didn’t really believe it, like, I didn’t believe that it would end up working... but then Lucian