Chapter 13
James
I had hoped to see Isabelle at the after-work drinks last night, so being sat surrounded by my colleagues and her empty seat beside me, made me want to leave as soon as possible. She has only been here for two weeks but already feels like the heart of the team.
This morning, though, I feel at a loss. Restlessness surges through me, and I make my way through the house—tidying, cleaning, doing anything that will keep me busy.
By lunchtime, I’m sitting with nothing else to occupy my time or my mind, scrolling through my phone when I see an email from the club promoting their Domme night tonight.
It's been a while, and I need to get out of the house. All the talk at the pub about husbands and wives and Daniel's reminder that I seemingly can't keep a woman has made
Alexandra Ravensbrook
me feel very alone. I need company, distraction, and maybe some connection, somehow.
Laura, my ex-wife, is the typical case of marrying in haste and repenting at leisure.
We trained at teacher college together and got jobs nearby.
I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d met.
Funny, confident, clever. We dated on and off during university, with placements often getting in the way of spending time together.
Once we qualified and got jobs, we settled down pretty quickly and moved in together. The sex was great. We were so happy.
Everything was great.
Until it wasn't.
It all just seemed to come crashing down, and I had been oblivious to it all.
Laura loved to take charge, and I was there for it.
I loved it. There's nothing sexier than a woman in control taking what she wants.
We tried so much. She liked to tie me up and tease me, and fucking hell, that really got me going.
I liked returning the favour, pleasuring her as long as she wanted.
There were things she never wanted to try, which was fine.
We made up for it in so many other ways.
By the time we hit our thirties, though, things had become strained. We’d lost that spark. We both blamed
Yes, Miss
being busy at work, having very little downtime with each other. Being tired or stressed. But she had become distant.
Sex became something we did on a Saturday morning as a habit.
We sat and talked about how to get things up and running, and I told her how much I enjoyed her taking control and getting rough.
How I liked doing what she told me to do.
I knew what she liked and didn't, and I loved seeing her come.
We tried, but she always ended up just letting me take over and take control.
Arguments started between us, and I told her I wanted to explore her being the dominant one, maybe try some dirty talk.
I'd seen a video of a guy being edged and called filthy names and humiliated, and I'm not going to lie, it gave me the biggest hard-on I'd ever had.
I'm not ashamed to say I'd watched porn during our rough patch. I even tried getting her to watch it with me. I reminded her of the time she’d grabbed my hair and yanked on it, and it had hurt, but it was such a good kind of pain.
But that was it. She just lost it. It was so out of nowhere. Such an overreaction. Hurtful things were said by both of us. I won’t say I was the innocent one, but the things she said had cut deep.
She had told me that no real man wanted to be on his knees and dominated. That I should be ashamed to want to lower myself that way. That what I said I liked was sick and perverted. I was a pervert.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
I knew then that it was the end. The divorce she asked for I gave, because I was broken by then.
She made me feel so ashamed, so dirty and disgusting.
I had opened up to my wife, the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.
I had told her my deepest fantasies, and she laughed at me. She was disgusted.
Maybe she was right, and that haunted me for so long. After that, I laid low. There was no point in trying to have any relationships after that. No woman would want me, a man who's not a real man.
Then I found Purgatory.
Purgatory is a local fetish BDSM club. They hold different themed nights that focus on different areas of kink.
A pop-up advert came up on a fetish site I had been looking at, and to know it was quite local was surprising.
I researched the club and spoke to a few people online about it, and I couldn't believe it.
There were others who liked the same things.
I wasn't alone. I felt like I could finally take a deep breath.
I went and visited. They were so friendly and—I suppose it's strange to say—normal.
The man who had shown me round was just so average, with blond hair receding with strands of grey at the temples and wrinkles around the edges of his eyes from smiling so much.
He was gently spoken, and in his shirt and trousers he looked like any guy off the street, like he worked in IT or accounting.
Yes, Miss
He was so open when we talked. Turns out he is a real sadist. He loves to put his subs through some serious pain from what he was saying. He took me through the membership paperwork and said he hoped to see me around the club.
I’ll be honest, I was expecting to see people head-to-toe in latex suits, gimp masks, and leather, but so many were just dressed up in sexy outfits ranging from the classic black dress to full-on club wear.
I've seen couples acting out scenes, but since the few nights I’ve been to, I still haven’t felt comfortable talking to many people. Laura’s words still haunt my mind.
This evening is their Dommes night. I've read the event poster near the bar, and this one had caught my eye at the start.
They had scenes both on the mini stages and in a private room and would demonstrate their dynamic to interested people and had mini show-and-tells for members.
The club really seemed to want to educate and expand people's minds.
I rise from my seat and stretch. Without rugby practice today, I feel stiff and full of energy that needs burning off.
I walk up my stairs and undress to shower.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I’m not a bad-looking guy.
I have definition, I’m tall, I still have my thick dark hair.
But my spirits sink hearing Laura’s voice again.
As the water runs down my body, I start to think of Isabelle, wondering what she might be up to today.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
Thinking of her with her friends, looking stunning, laughing, enjoying herself. Her long dark waves cascading down her back, encased in a dress that highlights her glorious full curves.
My cock starts to thicken, and my hand drifts down as my other hand rests against the shower wall.
Images of her dancing, her curves swaying, merge into her being in nothing but black lacy lingerie, spread on my bed, and my hand strokes faster, my climax building quicker.
My breaths start to become ragged as she climbs on top of me, and her bra comes off, those full round breasts bouncing as she rides me.
My balls tighten, and a shudder wracks my body as I come all over my hand, her name rasping off my lips in desperation.
“Fuck, Isabelle,” My breathing slows as I clear my head, shame pouring over me like the water of the shower, leaving me feeling dirty as I wash away my thoughts of Isabelle.
Maybe tonight I’ll finally get talking to someone who is into the same things, and I won't be reduced to jerking off in the shower thinking of a woman I have no right to think of and have no chance of making mine.
I’m not sure I’m looking for a partner right now; I don’t think I’ll be ready for a while for that, but tonight makes me hold out hope that maybe I’m not as disgusting as Laura had said.
Yes, Miss
I pull on my white shirt, looking at my reflection in the mirror as I fasten the buttons. I look better than I did a week or so ago. Having Isabelle on the team has helped lighten my workload, and it has obviously made the difference.
I’m not even acknowledging that niggle in my head telling me that maybe I look better because I’ve been sitting and resting with her at lunchtimes and actually eating something, rather than working straight through.
Watching her laugh and smile whilst telling her uni stories and what she had been up to since leaving the school is an experience in itself.
Her eyes sparkled as she laughed, and her bright wide smile seemed to light up the staff room.
She has a habit of running her fingers through the ends of her hair when conversation slows, twirling the waves through her long slender fingers.
Jesus, get a hold of yourself.
That’s the problem though, isn’t it? I’ve been getting hold of myself far too much lately, frequently jerking off in my morning shower to thoughts of Isabelle. It’s getting ridiculous. I run my fingers through my hair, sweeping it back, and slip on my jacket, leaving the house.