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[personalrecovery]

Goodbye

They seem to be the worst when you know they're coming. It's like there's a deadline that you can't escape; you just dread it and pretend it's not there. It's that way with him. He's my lighthouse. The calm waters that make me feel safe and warm. Growing and learning and challenging each other, knowing that throughout it all you're there for each other is all you need to keep going. Until I found out I didn't have that. I wanted it so badly.

[personalrecovery]

The Dare

The next night that we hung out I brought over Jenga. We each did a shot of whiskey, he cooked up some phenomenal steaks and we sat down to play. I lost almost immediately (I'm pretty sure he cheated or the table was uneven or something) and suggested we play card games instead. After a couple of hands of Texas hold 'em and rummy we decided to make it more interesting. Whoever won would be able to dare the other person to do something. Understand now, he and I were in an agreement so we didn't have to do anything that was outside of our limits. So naturally my winning streak died and he got 3 of the 4 dares. Not even 5 minutes later he had the perfect dare... "I want you to lay back and play both yourself. Now, I'm not huge into voyeurism and I prefer privacy but it wasn't a limit, just a comfort zone, so I went ahead. His second dare was a little more tricky. He dared me to wear a buttplug while I was at work with him. I stopped everything I was doing and looked at him and my mind went blank of everything except "what." I think he could see my hesitation and panic because he assured me I could cancel at anytime and there would be no shame or penalty. We agreed the next shift we worked together would be the day, and so I marked in my calendar the following Sunday. The Saturday the night before we hung out once more, and this is where I am shocked at myself. We watched a couple of episodes of Supernatural, had a glass of wine for me and went to bed. My libido is untamable; 95% of the time if sex is an option I will pick sex, so it comes as no surprise to both you and me that going to bed isn't as innocent as it sounds. He and I got comfy, then he rolled over on top of me and stared playing with my clit. After some heavenly foreplay he rolled me over onto my knees and popped my hips up and finally started to fuck me. He also began to rub his fingers over my asscheeks and brushed against my asshole. I tensed slightly, and he whispered to me “Good girl, you’re okay.” It’s like he knew what I needed to hear and how to handle my anxiety over the situation. I relaxed and at his urging began to play with my clit as he continued to fill me with his cock. After several minutes of warm-up and gentle play he was able to enter me with his fingers and I actually really enjoyed the sensation. He rocked forward every so slightly and adjusted my hips so they sat a more comfortable angle.

A huge issue with anal is the texture. I prefer smooth surfaces like latex or rubber as opposed to more rough textures like skin, especially ones like callused hands. But to his credit he kept my ass wet with my own arousal so as to smooth the friction. 

As I knelt before him with my ass in the air he rested the head of his cock against my tender bud. He leaned in ever so gently and pierced me. I nearly cried out from the feeling, but bit my lip instead. His was the first uncircumcised cock I had experienced, and it made anal all the better. His head was so soft and smooth yet firm, and his shaft was able to pleasure me without pulling on my rim. He moved slowly as he entered me, and backed out in little bits so as to accustom me to the feeling. Slowly but surely he worked farther and farther in, until I was pushing back into him so he could fill me all the way. And he did. He let me move against his hips for a minute before he stilled me. He began to slide in and out of my ass at such a delicate pleasurable pace. He reached around my hips and slid one finger into my cunt and his thumb stroked my clit. and with those movements I shattered. My body let go and begged for more. He increased the pace and pressure until my body was ready to release again. I came 5 times with his cock in my ass. And each time was sweeter than the last. He took no measures for is own pleasure, he let me impale myself on him. It was all I could do to remain on my knees when he took back a little pleasure for himself. It was such a slight change in pressure and balance, but it made all the difference for him. Mere minutes later I came around him as he spilled his seed deep into me. I didn’t want to lose the feeling of him in me and actually whimpered when he slid his body from mine. It was with great relief that I collapsed against the pillow. That was the first and only time I have been able to have and enjoy anal sex without having a panic attack before during or after. It was and is the most freeing thing that has happened to me in my life. I couldn’t wait to do it again, but the following day was Sunday; and boy, my ass was in for a ride.  

[personalrecovery]

A day or so later, he and I discussed my hesitation and after much coaxing from him and courage from me, I brought over my buttplug with me, to see where it might lead. He stepped into the bedroom to grab his phone or something simple, and when he came back I was naked on the couch with the plug in. He was surprised that it was that easy and I explained that the action wasn’t the issue, the source was. Understandably though, both he and I were aroused by the situation we found ourselves in, and it just so happened the couch was the right height to pound into me comfortably. He watched for a minute or two as I played with the plug and noticed that I didn’t pull it out as much as I twisted and pushed on it. He stepped in, fully excited himself, and started to work my whole body over. His strong fingers pulled on my nipple piercings, creating that newly familiar ache that shot down to my cunt. I ached for his touch, already so ready to receive him. With a delicate touch he brushed my hand aside and started to move my toy. At his bidding I began to touch and pleasure myself, and he kissed me again. It was different this time, less wild, more reassuring and comforting, as if he was trying to send me some of his courage. He murmured words of praise and encouragement against my lips and his breath soothed me as it passed my ears.  After several minutes of learning and adjusting he motioned to me to flip over onto my knees and rest my aching breasts against the back of the couch. With a deep breath and more than a little trust I obeyed. I would be lying if I said that I was comfortable. I was terrified, all I could see was that stupid fucking headboard that I stared at or the feeling of all the hot water in the shower being gone and the ache my ass felt for weeks after what had happened to me. Two years later and I still had those terrors. But fuck if I was going to let a pussy faced rapist run my life any longer. I bit my tongue, trusted once more and re-positioned myself. He praised me for my courage and rewarded me with a brush across my clit. He worked me up a little bit more, and finally entered me with his cock like I was aching for. I loved the feeling of his cock pressing against the plug and the double friction of double entry. It was blissful. I arched my back and pressed my hips against his. He began to really move against me, but was careful to not pull on the plug too roughly. I felt to free in that moment. My ass didn’t ache, my pussy loved the friction, and my tits were rubbing against the fabric of the couch. It was a trifecta that had me cumming in mere minutes. With every orgasm my body healed a little bit more. He kept a firm hand on my hips to control the motion and angle of me and my plug. As the orgasms became more intense the plug began to move of its own accord, my body was so tight and aroused that every motion seemed to spark a new orgasm until they layered so tightly that even my breathing seemed to halt. After several minutes of ecstasy he came into me and my body came down from its high. I had done it. It was a huge success to a high hurdle. Now I know you’re thinking, but she had anal sex with Mark, how is this monumental in her journey. The thing is, I was able to cum and my brain wasn’t focused on the negative connotations of anal stimulation. And it would only get better from there. 

[personalrecovery]

That kiss sealed the fate of that night. I knew then I wanted more. It made my bones feel like there were on fire and every bit of my skin tingled in anticipation of the next little bit of contact. My lips were swollen and raw by the time we pulled away. The heat in his eyes immediately portrayed his desires and struck my stomach down until it pooled in my toes. My voice went mute and I lost all thought process other than fulfilling his desire. I could feel my arousal slip between my legs and all I wanted to do was tear my pants off and sink on him full to the hilt, but I desperately needed to know the taste of his pleasure first. I watched as he unbuttoned his pants and exposed his cock to my greedy eyes for the first time. As my lips reached around his head to taste it, his hand reached behind my head and pulled me firmly on as far as I could take it. I was in heaven. No one had shown that much desire or care before. He gently but urgently pressed against the back of my throat while stroking my face and praising me as I tried to relax and take him all the way. As I opened and slowly took him further and further I peeked up through my lashes and saw his head tilted back and heard his sighs and moans. I worked my slutty mouth over every inch of him that I could take, licking up the underside and sucking on the backstrokes, I teased the sensitive head and was rewarded with a groan and a swift thrust back into my mouth. His hand was slowly gripping my hair on the back of my head tighter and tighter until he was practically fucking my mouth. It was all I could do to try and keep up with his pace. And suddenly, I was left empty as he pulled out of my mouth, tore my shirt off of me and attacked my perky, pierced nipples. I let out a cry and sunk into the feeling. It was like a lightning bolt straight to my cunt. I felt every tinge and tickle and pinch like his fingers were on my clit. I am unashamed to say I came from just that stimulation alone. And he was unrelenting. But even that could not sate us. In an instant I was on my back with my pants off, my thong to the side and his head between my legs. He lapped at my arousal like a man stranded on a desert island tasting water again. He worked his fingers into me and made me cry out in release. His hands were magic working over my sensitive nipples and buried in my cunt and his tongue seemed to find the sweet spot on my clit that always alluded me. His desire was unmatched and untamed. He flipped me over the back of the couch, finished baring me to him and sunk into my tight, wet pussy. His pace was rough and frantic as he thrust deeper into my core. He had my hair in his fist and his other hand forcing my back in a curve just so perfect that the edge of his head pounded into my g-spot with crippling pleasure. It was not long before I came around his cock. And again. And again until numbers had no meaning and he released his seed deep into my clenching pussy. It was with bittersweet release that he slid his member out from between my legs and collapsed next to me on the couch.

[personalrecovery]

Right before Mark and I broke up I ran back into a friend I had worked with while I was married. He and I always seemed to hit it off, we made easy small talk and had relatively similar humor. There was some definite sexual tension but we both were mature adults that knew better than to play with fire. Now though there wasn’t any moral objection to whatever may happen. We started messaging each other back and forth, testing boundaries, drawing lines, increasing the tension. I can honestly say I have never been as wet or aroused with anyone ever. My torment couldn't just be relegated to my personal life; I was going to work with him again. We flirted and joked and insinuated a lot. And then I told him to fight me. He took me up on that offer, so one Tuesday afternoon he and I went to the gym and he taught me exactly how small I really am. I'm 5'10" and 150lbs and he threw me around like a rag doll over his shoulder. It was intimidating and a whole lot of fun. He showed me holds and throws, but it was groundwork that really tested my resolve. Being pinned was primal and intense. Maybe it was just because I was reading too much into the situation or the fact that I was finally able to act on my desires, but that wrestling lesson was the most erotic workout I've ever done. Of course, since I worked out I deserved to treat myself, and he and I got a pizza. Which meant we spend even more time together. I brought over a bottle of wine and ended up drinking more than I had planned, but I was still sober enough. I say this because I was in control of my head and body when he kissed me for the first time. At this point I stopped thinking and stressing about my break up with Mark. All I could focus on was the way his full lips rubbed against mine and the way his tongue plundered my mouth. The intensity was so breathtaking that I had to break away to even consider what was happening. As my lips split from his he muttered "damn it" under his breath and I thought to myself that he was as tangled as I was. He wanted it as much as I did. I thought to myself "fuck it" and leaned back in. His touch was gentle and persuasive as he nudged my chin up and his mouth covered mine once more.

[personalrecovery]

Chapter Five

My sexual hurdles were slowly being jumped. My personal ones on the other hand were way to extreme to pretend they were fine. Mark and I argued more than we loved. We fought about work, and about the apartment, about what movie to watch, and what to eat. There were no boundaries. I happen to be a very solitary person. I can survive with just my brain to keep me company. After 16 months with Mark I had to break it off. He was planning where to buy a house and his military career. I knew I couldn’t play along and feed into his fantasy any longer. He was angry and hurt but accepted my decision. He’s more of a man for that reason alone. He was willing to work things out so we both left the situation financially safe and prepared for life in separate worlds. I want to travel and explore the world. I need to grow and find myself as a person now more than ever. I need to have something other than a relationship to base myself on. So that’s what I’m doing, I’m going to travel and expand my knowledge. I’m going to live in New York, work in a fancy restaurant and live in a shithole apartment. It’s going to be me, my dog and my black chefs jacket trimmed in purple. I just cut my hair, the next step is to dye it and just cut loose. I’m going to see where it leads and what else life throws at me. I hate what happened to me, I’m thankful for Mark who helped me recover, and I’m looking to the future and what I will become. I'll Leave the sorrow behind and find new roads to lead myself on. Adieu. Adios. Fuck you Nick you rapist asshole.

[personalrecovery]

Chapter 4

My life took an amazing turn for the better when I was with Mark. My self confidence skyrocketed, my physical health was no longer in jeopardy, and I even managed to gain enough weight to resume the monthly bloodletting. I moved in with Mark and my life seemed settled. After 9 months of dating we talked of marriage. I realized that I was newly 20 and that my life was so... mediocre. After a couple of discussions we determined what we could do to freshen the relationship and how we could let it grow with us. My aspiration for my life was to own a restaurant, preferably in New York and to live in a high rise with a black and purple Mohawk. Insane I know, but it was my dream, and I wanted it. So we tried. I swear we did. But routine and ruts kill passion. My professional life was struggling as I switched jobs when we moved. My previous fuck it and do it attitude wasn't working at the new job, which was a corporate chain. I was growing in my professional life with the help of an amazing mentor and friend. All the while my head and heart seemed to drag. Life in the bedroom was. That it. It was. I could tell you exactly how Mark would initiate sex, down to even the order of his foreplay and the positions he favored. As I still couldn't get past my mental barriers it started to toll on me. He offered to try different things, but the only thing that I ever liked was solitary toy play. Slowly, ever so slowly I could let him be in the room and watch. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months as I tried to grow and move on. Eventually I was able to let him play with the toy. I still had control, an absolute safe word and protocol for the situation. It was a big step for me to give back the reins. After several sessions he started to stretch me little by little with his fingers. I started to associate anal play with the pleasure of my vibrator and ever so reluctantly my body caved. One night Mark suggested we try another step. We took our time, I warned up and stretched and tried to relax and Mark helped... because I wanted to try anal. As soon as his cock touched that little ring and put even the tiniest amount of pressure on it my body went into lockdown. It is the only time that o have safeworded. I can tolerate a moderate amount of physical pain, spanking whipping and biting, but mental anguish is too traumatic for me. My mind would not be corrected. Mark cared for me that night like I was a broken doll. He bathed me, fed me and rocked me to sleep. He comforted me when I rose from my nightmares screaming. And when I woke in the morning he was there holding me, reassuring me. It's why I didn't deserve him. After two more tries in the weeks to come I was finally able to take his head in me. I will admit that wine was a natural lubricant for me, and seemed to block out the horrifying night and let my pleasure run the show. I couldn't stand much but I could at least handle something. And that's when our relationship hit a rock. Aside from our sexual attempts to heal me, our relationship was rocky and uneasy. I was invested in work and the potential for management while Mark was more of the romantic. Our values had shifted and the center of our relationship began to crumble. Neither one of us could support the others drew nor find a compromise.

[personalrecovery]

Chapter Three

Mark was… excellent. The perfect gentleman, the life of the party. He was easy and fun to talk to. And he was married. His wife had left him two days after I left my husband. He bonded over our shared torments because neither of us had to say sorry or talk about it. We could let it hang in the air or over our heads or in our hearts and we didn’t have to talk about it. We grew closer. And he asked me out. By this time the paperwork for our respective divorces had been filed and was working on being processed. He asked me out to dinner and we enjoyed a night of joyful celebration. We went to Olive Garden and saw the blockbuster movie of the weekend. It was a turning point in my life. Mark seemed to understand the fact that I was sexually reserved. We talked about our respective interests and seemed to line up. That was where we sat for a while. Talking and laughing and growing our relationship to a point where I could begin to feel comfortable with sharing the fact that I was fucked up. And he was so accepting and sweet and patient. He didn’t push me to be anything more or less than what I was. He helped me start to see that it wasn’t my fault. He helped me know that I wasn’t the problem and that it was something that I could overcome. And I started to believe him. We had sex for the first time and it was amazing. He held me and loved me and showed me what it should have been all along, caring and safe. After a couple of months I felt safe and I allowed him in. I talked. I opened up about my rape. It's such an ugly word. R. A. P. E. It seemed to define me, ugly, dejected, worthless, violent, horrifying. I cried. I sobbed like I hadn't done in the year since it had happened. I let myself grieve. At that point I told Mark my fantasies; he took one look at me, growled, and pulled me by hair closer for a kiss. He became the possessive dominant that I needed to feel safe. He controlled my body and mind. But still I couldn't seem to touch that barrier. He never pushed, but I couldn't even let him near it. He spanked my ass and fucked me roughly but my ass wasn't even my own to play with anymore. Slowly, one day at a time I fell in love with Mark and learned to trust again. I worked up the courage(thank you vodka) to play with myself again, and sure enough, I could just bear the feeling of fingers brushing my arse. I slowly worked up to a finger tip pressuring for entry and ever so slowly managed to renter myself for the first time in over a year. I could feel my own body tense the way that it roiled from within. My mind broke and the feeling came back all over again, and I felt lost in the pain and the shame once more. Mark was by my side though, and he talked and held me until I was once again coherent.

[personalrecovery]

Chapter Two

After months of abuse, that escalated from verbal to emotional to finally physical, I sought help. I talked to a therapist and bared my soul on his desk for three hours. And he told me to run. I did. I left that night. I didn't say a word and I did. Not. Flinch. He threatened and he screamed and he yelled. But I was leaving. I left behind my dog. My-his- friends. Everything but a change of clothes and my toothbrush stayed in the house of horrors. I slept at a friends house that night. I slept so long and so well for the first time in months that my boss wasn't mad that I missed work. I had made it out. But I was still tattered. Once again it was me against the world. And I fought the world tooth and nail. I stayed with a friend for two weeks, couch surfing and saving.... and then I met Mark.

[personalrecovery]

Chapter One

I had been out of high school for two months when I got that message. My high school crush. Messaged me. After two days of talking and beating around the bush he finally let me in on why he messaged me. Apparently I was a good idea when he was drunk. Warning number one. I went to college three weeks later and it was one of the worst time periods in my life. I had no friends, no support group and all the social skills of an unhatched egg. All I had was him. He and I talked routinely. But looking back I know it was me talking to him and him replying when he wanted. It was my only contact though so at the time I was happy. It’s not a surprise that when I visited him for thanksgiving I didn’t go back to college. My program was dying and my life was too. I had my roommate send me the last of my stuff, there wasn’t very much. I got a job at a little shithole bar/restaurant two blocks down the road and worked nights and weekends for a couple of months. I loved every second of the slimy grease hole, the gruff attitudes, the shut up and get it done attitude. Still, my life was devolving around me. Work had always been the one thing I could count on. I could always go to work. It doesn’t change. It challenges and grows me. But the rest of my life… I had two alcoholic roommates and an alcoholic boyfriend. Most of the time he just yelled at me. And I deserved it most of the time. I was too mean or selfish or lazy. Sometimes he ignored me. That was worse, it hurt more. Warning number two. But still, I stayed. And I stayed too long. ;A little backstory, I wasn’t a virgin, but I had only slept with one other person. I was starting to explore my sexuality and find out what I liked. And I like a lot. I like giving blowjobs and restraints and doggy. I learned my body inside and out. There was one thing I could always do to get myself off. Any type of anal stimulation. The sensitivity and tenderness of it all, it’s overwhelming. Even just a little breeze could set me off. It was a hair trigger setup… perfect right? Back to him. one night was worse than any night before. He had more alcohol that one night than I ever seen a single person consume before. Warning number three. The sex was mediocre. He wasn’t well hung or well versed in pleasure so it was just alright. I made do because I took care of my own needs. But that night he had one thing on his mind. Me. He wanted me. So I played along. I let him. And at first it wasn’t bad. He actually made some semblance of foreplay. He seemed interest in my pleasure. Until I was on my knees, doggy style. My favorite. And that was it. All he needed. He tore through my ass like it was tissue paper. And I screamed. I fought. I writhed return to escape. I screamed bloody murder and cried and begged. I begged him to back out. I pleaded for him to let go of my hips. I prayed to god for it to stop, for my hips to relax for my body to be my own once more. And after what seemed like a lack of time he finally slid out of my body. I had collapsed on the edge of the bed at some point. My legs were splayed out at a deeply uncomfortable angle from the force, but I couldn’t seem to rouse them to move. I couldn’t make my body obey me. All I could do is feel. Feel the pain, feel the loss, and feel the blood drip down my inner thigh. I managed to drag myself to the shower where I curled up into a ball. And I watched in dazed amazement as the blood finally stopped and the water was no longer red but a rose pink. I cleaned myself up as best as my ass would allow, and dryed off. I covered up and slipped back into the room, and into the closet. It wasn’t very hard. He was passed out on the bed with his bloody cock like a trophy out for the world to see. I slept in my closet that night. I woke from my nightmare and realized that it was actually my life. And suddenly college seemed so good. But I had no way to go back. So I had to go forward. When I opened the door and stepped out I didn’t know what to do. He was sitting there in his computer chair; he heard me come out and turned his head but didn’t say anything until I came back from the bathroom. “Why are you walking like that?” That sentence killed what little of me was left. He didn’t see what was wrong. Over the course of the next three days I tried to make sense of it. How could someone not realize the difference in sexual pleading and actually asking him to stop? I safeworded. I know I did. Because when you’re screaming peanut butter during sex it’s not something you can forget. He doesn’t remember raping me. And when he hinted at anal play the next time, I could see the disgust in his face when I whimpered. Somehow he was the victim in his eyes. That it couldn’t really have been that bad. Tough up. And still I stayed.