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I never hit a woman in my life. Until I met Clarissa. Sure, I had my share of macho posturing and I did, half-mockingly threaten Lynn to wipe the floor with her when she made my seeing go red. But I have never hit a woman before.

Clarissa... she is one of those events in life that shake you all up and leave you wondering. Have I ever known anything? Have I ever known myself?

It's a wonder we met at all. She didn't look like my type to start with and... Well I think I can say I was not her type at all. Because she seemed not to have any type of men she was interested in. She was the shyest, quietest person I have ever met. She turned out to be my age even though I thought she was several years younger, probably due to the fact she was so shy and soft-spoken.

It's incredible. Looking at her now... She accepted everything I demanded. To dress like a slut just for my pleasure. Lacey underwear and black stockings. High heels and see-through tops. Black make-up and silver jewellery. Insults and threats, pain, torture, confessions, spit, semen, my strange British sense of humour. Everything.

Clarissa can take it all. I have yet to find out whether there is a limit. I am a little scared. There might not be a limit to her. Will I know my limit? Will I? Fuck, Nicholas, you might have bitten off more than you can chew here. But I love every second. I have not felt this alive in years. Ever since I was a child, in fact.

I was actually amused that she never ever heard of me. Used to hanging out with art-types, artists, musicians and other earthly scum, after a while you automatically assume that everyone knows you. OK, we were never huge, but our combo has had its share of moderate success in certain circles. Of course, it is more than mere coincidence that I was used to moving in these circles almost exclusively.

It does feel good to be recognised and praised even though, deep inside you are aware that there's nothing but back-scratching there, nothing but free drinks, ego-massage, drug sessions, sometimes amusing, sometimes dull, loads of shags, sometimes positively inspired by the fact that your stage name precedes your real persona, loads of fake talk about creativity and endless plans for the future...

All of this is crap, of course and I was always aware of that. Unlike Gothboy, music was never all my life (or, in his case, peripheral effects that come along with making moderately recognised music). After the tour we had planned was washed down the loo, due to his HIV incident, I just had to get used to the idea of finding jobs to keep myself out of the red. Well, this is not really true, I still had considerable savings but, without Lynn around and without work to devote my time to, heaven knows what kind of thoughts I might have started entertaining... So it was back to the drawing board. I almost forgot how bad it is to work from home.

While I worked for the company I bitched without end about having to get up and go to work. But ever since I went freelance, I understand what a curse free will is. There is no one around to check up on me, to make sure I am indeed working on my contracted job, instead of masturbating or riding my X-box, or just smoking green and watching zombie flick DVDs. It, of course turned into a series of near disasters, with accepting to do design for client after client and then just fucking around until the deadline would be nearly upon me and then working hours on end in a rush of adrenaline and shame and fear.

I managed to just get away with it, because, contrary to all logic, I am somewhat talented for this. But, I know my talent is horribly wasted because there is no discipline to me to ensure it is used to its full potential. However, I don't care too much. My talent is wasted anyway on boring jobs for unimaginative clients who want nothing more than to sell their fucking products at a faster rate...

Clarissa disturbed this ordeal to a dramatic extent.

I think that it was a combination of her shyness and the fact that she had no clue of who I am that attracted me. The last hundred or so ladies I have been intimate with all had different amounts of knowledge about me before we actually met and it's safe to say that none of them would count being shy as one of their pronounced character features. This is not to say they were all groupie sluts (nor, of course that there indeed was anywhere near to a hundred of them. I exaggerate, like all men).

Artistic pretensions in our music, the semiintellectual white crowd we became associated with, all ensured that we were never a target of desire of the same ladies who lost their dignity over Kid Rock or Justin Timberlake. But there was enough action to keep us going, yes. However, before meeting Clarissa, I never knew that the word 'slut' is really, really overused.

Ah, damnit, I think you could say I saw it as some kind of perverse challenge. I had no real aims in life at that point and nothing to actually look forward too, so I guess setting absurd goals to see if they can amuse me enough to keep me going yet another day seemed like a logical idea. If there ever was a woman that looked less likely to just jump into bed with me for one night, no strings attached, wham-bam-thank-you-mam style, less interested in being just a fucktoy, than Clarissa, I have yet to meet her. And that was intriguing in a way. To see if indeed I can be sufficiently bad, evil, dirty, cunning, lying and charming to crack her shell.

On top of that, I have to say I was impressed by her intelligence, her personality, that was shining through despite her shyness. At first I was almost sure that this was a girl I have no chances with.

However, things started changing with time, in quite a strange way. I actually expected Clarissa to grow bored of me quite quickly as I didn't think my type was quite her favourite fantasy. Not emotive or intellectual enough to be a prince, not aggressive enough to be macho... But I made her laugh quite a few times I think and I started noticing... There was a change in her gaze... At first I thought I was imagining it but then I decided it was true.

She started looking at me with some kind of affection and, maybe even loyalty, and... and some kind of strange servitude. And it got more pronounced with time. Clarissa laughed in my presence and I think she felt more comfortable with time and her way of responding was to become more and more servile. She wanted to do things for me, she wanted me to be pleased with what she did, and when I'd thank her and call her a good girl, the look in her eyes'd give me the shivers.

In retrospect, I understand all of that. I think I understood it well enough back then too, but was unable to put it in words. I can be slow at times.

The first time we had sex. Now I think about it and call it "Point of Entry" in my head. It was initiation, nothing short of initiation for me and, I guess her as well. I truly know this in my heart: I was a different man after that. I may have not realised it immediately after, maybe not tomorrow morning either. But now I know. Old Nick was left behind that night. A new one was born. One I never knew was there, waiting to emerge, fully formed, defiant, powerful.


"Are you still scared?"

Her response is soft.

"yes..."

The fucking thing tastes dreadfully. Fuck!! I forgot this was one of the reasons I never really got into heroin. Oh, sure, I was never too crazy about having to inject substances into my organism and I was not too interested in the whole heroin-subculture that inevitably follows more frequent use of the powder.

So I never turned it down when offered because, shit, this thing is expensive and you just don't turn offers like that down and, admittedly, there are experiences to be had and paths to be explored there, and I sometimes purchased small quantities to use at my leisure, but I was never big on it. And the fact that it tastes awful in the back of my throat after inhaling it is probably what puts me off the most. I am not a junkie, I just don't have that mindset. Peace brother, but I prefer spliffs and beer.

But, what do you know, there was a small package in one of the drawers, I was almost shocked to find it there. I don't even remember when it might have been I bought it. It was not Lynn's, she never liked the stuff... It must have laid there for maybe two years. God, I am laughing to myself nervously, when Kevin had his little incident with the old Bill (or as they call it 5-0 in the projects here) and was investigated, I was feeling all righteous and mighty. It never occurred to me that the cops might have knocked on my door, taking a lead from him or someone else and they would have searched the place thoroughly as they are taught at school and then I would have been busted for a stash of smack that I don't even remember buying in the first place... Ahh, blessed are the meek...

The reason I decided to have a sniff is of a practical nature. Clarissa needs to be fucked especially long and hard today. Heroin is good in these cases. It makes me slightly number than normal and I can literally have erection for hours. It becomes considerably harder to cum but reaching mere orgasm is not my main objective today. I already had one. It was amazing. Now I need to have Clarissa fucked until she is exhausted and begs me to stop, and then some. It will be her punishment and her award.

Not just yet. Currently, she is kneeling in the corner, blindfolded. Her hands are tied on her back. She is wearing a very sexy black teddy and a pair of slutty stockings, accompanied by the most over the top high heeled slippers I could find in this town. I picked them myself and I remember Clarissa blushing in the shop when I made her try them on and parade in front of the salesgirl in them. Of course, I made her put on a show and it was quite obvious to the girl that us two are not just mere partners.

I informed her that Clarissa loves them but never let Clarissa speak her mind. I could see her embarrassment and her excitement when the girl casually used the word sexy to describe the slippers and I agreed. We were both looking at her and I made a passing remark that she looks a little like one of the sluts from downtown.

The girl laughed because I made it sound like the most innocent joke ever (that IS a virtue, you know) but I could see Clarissa's breathing stop for a second. She begged me to fuck her after we got home, she promised to do everything I could want. And she did. It was amazing, she was doing the things almost unimaginable.

Alright, I admit it, I am a pig. I quickly slipped into the habit, shoot me. It is just too convenient to have Clarissa do the housework on occasions when she is around. It is all a part of what she is. And I am just lazy. So we are a perfect match .

I had her do the dishes today, all dressed up like a slut. I also produced a loveball that I bought as a surprise for her and had her shove it into her cunt. She was embarrassed and begged me not to make her do it, but I knew she wanted it, I knew she really wanted to be a slut for me so I forced her to do it and made sure she pushed it deep inside her. Then on went her stockings and teddy and slippers.

I made her parade around the room a bit, first on all fours, showing me her tits and spreading her pussy with her fingers for me. Then I made her walk around and bend over tables and massage her breasts for me. I knew how this all must have aroused her as my cock was very hard fairly early on into the session, but I took my time and ordered her to wash the dishes. I told her that she was useless and that I might as well find another slut as she has stopped turning me on and that the only thing she is good for at the moment is the dishes.

She cried and apologised and begged forgiveness. She begged to be given a chance to prove her loyalty but I made her do the dishes all dressed up and I remembered to use my hands and the whip on her ass from time to time, just to make things more interesting. She moaned and I knew it was equal parts pain and pleasure. The loveball in her cunt, the words I was using, the slutty outfit, the task she was given, the humiliation, all have combined to turn her on.

I told her: "I know that you are a slut and I know you are loving this, aren't you? I know you are squeezing the ball in your cunt right now, trying to bring yourself to cum, aren't you, slut? Listen to me, carefully: you are not allowed to cum and don't you dare cum, bitch. This is meant to be your punishment, not your award!!"

I made her apologise and promise that she will not cum. But I made it hard for her. I continued spanking her arse and I pinched her nipples, pulled her hair and whispered into her ear. And, when I couldn't take it any more, I pulled her away from the sink, by her hair and forced her to her knees. Out came the cock and I had her suck on it while I pushed her head forwards. God, it was earthshaking. I thought my heart would break out of my chest and rocket to the sky.

And I had to fuck her right away, despite wanting to take things easily. So I tied her hands on her back with a very nice black rope that I bought exclusively for these purposes. And I sat myself on the sofa and ordered her to climb onto me. I took the loveball out of her cunt that was literally dripping with her excitement.

"Open your mouth, slut!" I said and had her accept the ball into her mouth. Tasting her own juices is a sight to see and I know how humiliated she must have felt. Then I ordered her to sit on my cock and reminded her she is not allowed to cum once again. And then she started riding me and rocking me and, God, I nearly lost it. She was so aroused it was unbelievable.

I squeezed her breasts and sucked on her rock hard nipples. But she needed more, she deserved more so I reached for the drawer, not having her stop fucking my cock for a second. Out came the clips and in seconds I put these small, nasty looking metallic things on each of her nipples. Oh, how she cried, but her hips danced a wilder dance even.

"It hurts, Clarissa, doesn't it? It hurts, you cunt, you deserve none better than this!!" I insulted her and degraded her any way I could think of, telling her she is not allowed to cum and that she better watch it because only then she will be in deep trouble. And I buried my middle finger into her anus.

It just slipped in, she was so wet from everything. And it just happened to her, she lost control and she orgasmed right then, moaning and screaming and her cunt muscles squeezed my cock so hard that it just took me over the edge right there. I pumped her full of sperm just like that, unable to control myself. I wanted to shout at her something threatening and tell her that she will pay for this, but I just moaned like a girl, the pleasure was just too great. So much for my authority.

Thus, I had to take all to another level and I explained to her that she broke my order and that she is to be punished further. She apologised and looked genuinely unhappy and I wanted to give her a big hug right there but decided to play the game. So I blindfolded her with a thin silk scarf and ordered her to knee in the corner, her hands tied behind her back. And to wait for me to become interested in her again. I took my time. I had a drink, smoked a joint and decided that this was a good moment to use that stash of smack I found.

So she awaits. She is silent because she is not expected to talk unless spoken to and I am not speaking to her. I do a few phone calls. It's business, nothing more than that. I didn't have to do it right now, but I want her to feel like she is the most unimportant thing in the world to me at the moment. I fucked her and I came into her and then I discarded her like a condom.

This is how I want her to feel. This is how she wants to feel, I think. That's how she likes to be treated. I think. I don't know. Not for sure. I believe true Dominants know this. They feel this. I don't. I am guessing all the time. I believe this is as scary for me as it is for her. Maybe even scarier. She is a true submissive. She has no second thoughts about it. She is fully submitted when she submits. It is I who has doubts and thoughts and fears.

Finally, I make my move.

She is in the corner, blindfolded, kneeling in her sexy garments. Her hands are tied on her back with black piece of rope. Bondage is an art, not just a skill. It has physical, psychological, symbolical and aesthetic implications. It took me a while until I realised this. At first, I'd only use bondage to restrain her, to make her feel helpless and used. Then I started reading about the topic and felt ashamed at my lack of imagination. I was pretty impressed with Japanese bondage and the fact that it absolutely isn't about just tying a model in ropes as hard as possible. It is also about making a sculpture out of her, a work of art.

Of course, I am too lazy to seriously get into this, I am just a pothead with attention span of a three weeks old kitten. But I started practicing on my own at first and then on Clarissa and I noticed her reactions were more than satisfactory. It does fill me with pride today to restrain her in some visually appealing way and see her go into this dreamlike state where she stops being a person and turns into an object. It is just one more of the amazing things about her and her nature.

So, her arms are pulled back, rather cruelly I might add, and are tied with a series of knots, starting from her thumbs and fingers, going up her wrists and forearms. It hurts her to have her arms tied together like this, I know that. She is loving it. I think I know that.

I turn up the volume, the music is not just ominous any more, it's positively threatening. I made this mix specially for sessions like this, assorted pieces by masters of claustrophobic listening: Ligetti, Stockhausen, Kiraly, even Aphex Twin. Clarissa can not see, she can not move and now she can not hear me either. All she can hear is an avalanche of alien sounds and voices. She knows I am paying attention to her now, she is not stupid. But I will let her wait a little more, let the fear build up.

And when I do approach her it is slowly, without a sound. She looks so helpless yet so graceful kneeling in that corner. I have no erection yet, the smack kicked in and in fact, if this was just about fucking, I doubt I could be arsed to do it. But it's more than just fucking, Clarissa is more than just a fucktoy, even though I keep calling her that.

And I am upon her, one hand grabbing her tied fingers, the other one put over her mouth. I move my lips to her ear and whisper in the lowest, most threatening whisper I can command. While I speak I squeeze her fingers. I know she is scared, I want her to be scared. I am close enough to be able to feel her heartbeat accelerate. She is scared.

I tell her things about her that would make anyone cry or scream in rage and frustration. I tell her of things I will do to her. I tell her how I will use her mouth to get an erection, how she will be required to take my penis into her mouth and swallow it down her throat until it's hard enough that I can put it into her cunt. That's the word I use, "cunt", it's not "vagina" or "snatch" or even "pussy" , I want her to be aware that hers is just a fuckhole that needs to be filled with flesh.

"And then I will fuck your arse, whore, I will fuck your arse until you scream and until I fill it with my sperm. And then you will take my cock into your mouth and clean all your filth. Do you understand?" I am still holding my hand on her mouth so all she can do is mumble and I repeat: "Do you, bitch?". She nods and I release her mouth.

"yes", she whispers and I can barely hear her through a sandstorm of demon voices in the room, "yes, Sir."