Eye of the Beholder (MF, rom, bdsm, semiotics)(10/10)
XXI.

The ambush goes off just as I've planned, and the girl is soon safely 
restrained.  My man, all in black, approaches with her.  She wears a 
long scarlet gown, and her arms are bound securely behind her.

"Here she is," he says, a glint of amusement in his eye.

"Place her in the carriage."

Though she struggles, he is too strong for her.  Once he has her in the 
seat, I take my place beside her, and we are soon underway.

She spits at me.

"You will pay for this.  My father will not rest until he has found 
me."

I wipe the spittle from my mask.

"You will not be found."

She continues struggling but cannot get free.  The mere sight of her 
restraint arouses me.

"You think me an evil person?"

"You are a kidnapper and a rapist.  Your acts speak for themselves."

I stop the carriage for a moment and reach for her.  I take the bodice 
of her gown in my hands and rip it apart, exposing her breasts.  She 
screeches in outrage, but bound as she is, she can do nothing to stop 
me.  I smile as she struggles, for her resistance makes her breasts 
bounce and jiggle beautifully.

"Think upon that during our journey."

She is silent until we reach our destination, though she continues to 
glare at me.  I occasionally reach over to fondle a breast or tweak a 
nipple as I drive.  My desire is painfully hard already, but we have a 
long night ahead of us.

I pull the carriage around behind the castle and bring it to a stop.  
The Mistress of the castle awaits us, and I savor the look of horror on 
my captive's face.

"Sir!  If you have one ounce of decency, you will not expose me in this 
fashion."

"I expose you because it amuses me to do so."

I exit the carriage and lift her out of her seat.  Her eyes are closed 
and a deep flush colors her face and chest.  Her breath comes in rapid 
gasps.  I lead her down into the Dungeon, and now she begins to 
struggle against me again.

"Sir!  You cannot do this to me!  I will not be treated like a common 
criminal!"

I ignore her for the moment, carrying her into the Dungeon as the 
Mistress closes the door behind us.  I untie her, and though her 
struggles resume, she is not strong enough to stop me from securing her 
to the manacles in the ceiling.  I stand back to admire her for a 
moment, her pretty breasts and long blonde hair.  She jerks against the 
manacles but cannot get free.

I tear the remains of her dress from her body, leaving her naked.  She 
shrieks in rage and humiliation.  She tries to turn herself away, but 
there is little she can do now to stop me.

"You are polluted with faulty notions of pride, Elizabeth.  It is that 
pride I must purge from you."

"What will you do with me?"

"You will see."

I find a mask in the rack of toys and secure it to her head.  The loss 
of sight seems to inflame her further, and she gasps for breath as if 
suffocating.  I touch her breast lightly, and the contact alone makes 
her jerk away from me in fear.  I stand back to watch her dancing at 
the end of the chain, trying vainly to get free.  She is flushed near 
from head to toe now, nipples fiercely erect, yet I have scarcely 
started.  I know from the smell of her arousal that her resistance is 
not what it appears to be, and the scent arouses me even more.  Part of 
me wishes to ravish her immediately, but I restrain myself as best I 
can.

I select a paddle from the wall and approach her from behind.  She has 
no idea where I am now or what I plan, but she clearly anticipates 
something.

The first blow makes her cry out in pain, but I lay the second and 
third on her before she has any real chance to react.  I continue the 
blows until her buttocks are red with irritation.  Each time, she tries 
to turn away from me, tries to avoid the slap of the paddle, but she 
has no slack in the chain to move and can do nothing but accept my 
attentions.

I pause for a moment, listening to her ragged breath.  Her legs have 
failed her, and she hangs limply from the manacles.  I reach out to 
caress her inflamed buttocks, and she jerks from the pain of contact.  
I circle my hand around, reaching between her legs.  She whimpers at my 
intrusion, but does nothing to stop me.

She is an inferno, so hot she almost scorches my fingers, and so wet I 
can scarcely feel her.  The thought of it causes my erection to throb 
painfully.  I tweak the hot button between her lips a few times and 
withdraw.

I free her from the manacles.  She drops to the floor, making no move 
to flee.  I take her arms and drag her to the rack.  She realizes what 
I plan now, but is too weak to resist me.  In a moment or two, I have 
her fully restrained.

The power is rushing through me now, and I lift the restraints, 
stretching her out on the rack.  Her head hangs slackly from her neck, 
letting the long cascade of hair flow down behind her.  I caress her 
buttocks gently, leaning in to kiss her neck.

"Let go, Elizabeth.  Let go of your pride.  Pleasure is within your 
grasp if only you will take it."

She does not answer me, so consumed by sensation is she now.  I step 
back, selecting a narrow wooden strap from the wall.  With it, I resume 
my torment of her helpless buttocks.  She gasps at each blow, 
struggling weakly against her bonds.

Her behind is quite red and rosy, so I relent with the flagellation.  I 
reach between her legs again, finding her fluids almost running out of 
her.  Her thighs are wet with her secretions, and the smell of it, hot 
and musky, rises into the air between us.

I stroke her gently from behind, kissing her neck as before.  She gasps 
for breath, crying out now, but before she begins to shudder in 
release, I withdraw my fingers.  She moans in frustration, and I cannot 
help but smile.

When I step back, she has gone completely limp.  I free her from the 
rack, and she collapses into my arms.  I carry her across the room to 
the bondage poles, and she does not resist me as I tie her in place, 
pulling her forward until her breasts hang down helplessly.

I leave her like that for a moment or two, then remove her mask.  Her 
face is dripping with sweat, and her eyes roll around, not coming to 
rest on me for a few moments.  Again, I am awash in the need to ravage 
her, and I must struggle against it to maintain control.

"What do you want from me?" she gasps.

"I want your pride, Elizabeth.  Let go of it."

She stares at me, fear in her eyes, but does not respond.  I return to 
the collection of toys and gather the items I need.

The first is a phallus, which I slip into her from behind.  She gasps 
at the penetration, trying to escape me, but cannot.

"Hold on to that.  Do not let it fall."

I feel her trying to grip it from within.  It remains in place for now.  
I circle around in front of her and attach a set of weights to her 
nipples and clitoris.  Her flesh stretches out under these attentions, 
and her face begins to burn in mortification.

I want to spank her again, but as sensitive as she is now, my hand is 
all that is necessary.  I give her a few gentle swats, each one greeted 
by a sharp cry of pain and pleasure.  The skin of her buttocks is taut 
and swollen, burning with irritation.  I work the phallus in and out as 
I spank her, and she begins to lose control of herself.  Again, I stop 
before the critical point, leaving her on the brink.  She whimpers, 
squirming against the restraints.  I am as close to release as she is, 
and I pause for a moment to calm myself.

I leave the phallus in place but remove the weights.  I select a riding 
crop from the wall and return to my captive.  Her head is hanging down 
limply from her shoulders.

"Please," she moans, "do not beat me further.  Tell me what it is I 
must do."

"All right.  I will tell you what it is I desire.  I want you to love 
me."

She gasps, and her head lifts upward in alarm.  I see words filling her 
face, but she says nothing.  

Using the riding crop, I begin tormenting her breasts and pubic mound.  
Gentle swats are enough for me now, but from her reaction, one might 
think I was using a barbed scourge.  I work my way back behind her 
again, seeing that the phallus has begun to slip out.  I push it back 
in with the end of the crop, then let the tip of it slide forward until 
I am tickling her clitoris.  She gasps at the contact, shuddering, and 
I stroke her gently with the end of the crop.  I pay close attention to 
her reactions, bringing to the edge repeatedly, but I do not let her 
cross it.

My desire is almost painful now, and I can wait no longer.  I free her 
from the bondage poles and carry her to the slab.  She lies there 
limply as I restrain her.

"Elizabeth."

She moans.

"I will release you now, should you so desire.  Is that what you wish?"

She whimpers.

"Answer me."

"No."

"What is it you desire?"

"Love me," she whispers.

"I do."

"No.  Love me.  Bed me.  Make love to me."

I free my erection and climb onto the slab above her.  She is so wet 
now that I am inside her with scarcely any effort.  She grips me with 
the only free muscles she has.  I push forward into her, bottoming out.  

"Elizabeth," I moan.

"I love you.  I love you."

I begin to ride between her thighs, my control swiftly dissolving, but 
it hardly matters.  She is so oversensitized now that she erupts at 
once underneath me, crying out in painful release.  I am closing in on 
my own climax now, near ready to burst.

"Danny . . ."

The sound of my other name breaks my rhythm for a moment, but I am too 
far gone to stop now.

"Dani," I gasp.

"I love you . . . I love you."

I groan in release, past the point of being able to answer her.  As she 
climaxes again, my seed rises in a torrent, passing into her in a spasm 
of thrusts.  She whimpers under me, trying to kiss me, and I let her.  
We lay together, catching our breath, as the last of this experience 
burns within us.

* * *

XXII.

"Well," Mistress Rebecca said.  "Did we enjoy ourselves?"

"Completely," Dani said.  "Thank you so much."

We were in the kitchen upstairs, sharing a glass of wine with the 
"Mistress of the castle."  I was leaning against the island, and Dani 
was leaning back against me, too sore to sit down.  She wore a loose 
slip dress I had brought with me.

"You certainly made enough noise."

I laughed.

"Sorry."

"It wasn't a problem.  I enjoyed knowing you two were having fun."

"We did."

"Now that you've lost your virginity, Danny, are you ready to explore 
things further?"

"As long as I have as eager a partner as I had tonight."

I hugged Dani, and she hugged my arms.

"Any time."

"Did you mention my suggestion to him?" Mistress Rebecca asked.

"I wanted to wait until after tonight."

"What's the suggestion?"

Dani turned around, linking her arms around my waist.

"Do you remember how I said I didn't want the Mistress to be with us 
tonight, but I might later?"

I took a slow breath.

"Yes."

"This is just an idea, because I know you don't think you're into 
submission, but I'd like you to at least consider it."

"What?"

"Submitting with me.  Together.  Letting the Mistress dominate us like 
you did tonight."

It took me a second to answer her.  I had never thought of that 
possibility.

"I'm not sure I understand."

Mistress Rebecca smiled.

"Danny, relax.  She's not talking about a threesome.  She's talking 
about the two of you being together under my supervision.  I've done 
this plenty of times before.  Sex with me would not be involved."

I suddenly saw what she meant.  And though I had not seen anything 
arousing in submission before tonight, I realized this might be 
something else.  I had to take a deep breath and steady myself.

Dani saw my reaction and smiled.

"What do you think?"

"I think . . . it might be worth trying."

Mistress Rebecca patted my shoulder.

"Just give it some thought and get back to me.  I know I would enjoy 
it."

* * *

We drove home with Dani holding my hand and leaning against my 
shoulder.

"How did Todd react to this thing?"

"Bringing me outside like that?  He thought it was funny.  He even 
helped tie me up."

"I really enjoyed myself tonight.  Even more than I expected."

"Me too.  You were wonderful.  It was just like the story.  I lost 
myself in it completely."

I inhaled slowly.

"Well . . . until the end."

She didn't answer me immediately.

"I meant what I said."

"Okay.  So did I."

She squeezed my hand but said nothing more.

* * *

XXIII.

"I'm impressed, Danny.  This is some solid work you've done here."

"Thank you."

Phoebe Larson flipped through the last few pages of the draft and 
outline for my thesis, then set it on her desk.  Outside her window, 
the rose bushes swayed back and forth, blown by cold December winds.

"Perspective, then," she said.  "Is that what it's about?"

"Right.  It's all about context.  When kinky people talk about 
domination, submission, and especially resistance, they aren't using 
those words in the way straights understand them."

"It's just a fantasy."

"Well, it goes beyond that.  When you say, 'it's just a fantasy,' you 
aren't really explaining anything because that word doesn't change the 
connotations of domination and submission.  Straights don't get the 
fantasy because they have a different understanding of domination than 
kinky people do.  To most people, domination implies that you're 
enforcing your will on someone else, no matter what it is that person 
might want.  It's analogous with rape to them.  That isn't what's 
really going on.  It's the complete opposite of rape."

"Go on."

"'Domination' in the BDSM context has a lot of connotations.  It refers 
to a role rather than an action.  The same with 'submission.'  The 
person who is submitting may well be the person who is completely in 
charge, even though they may be fantasizing that they aren't.  
Straights don't understand it that way.  To most people, the 
connotation of 'submission' is giving up, giving in.  In a way, a 
submissive is doing that, but not the way other people might understand 
it."

"And how does erotica fit into this?"

I took a breath and continued.

"When you descend into a piece of BDSM fiction, the connotations change 
again.  'Submission' in a story generally isn't the same as 
'submission' in real life, but neither is it what the standard 
connotation is.  In the BDSM erotica context, 'submission' contains an 
understanding that the person submitting is enjoying it, or at least 
getting something out of it on some level, even though they may not be 
doing it willingly.  Likewise with 'domination' and 'slavery' and 
'humiliation' and all those other concepts you find in BDSM fiction."

"I see."

"At the core of all this, and this is what took me so long to 
understand, is the connotation of resistance."  

"How so?"

"If you can pin down how resistance is understood in any situation, you 
know where you are.  The understanding of resistance is what defines 
domination and submission."

"So if it's resistance in the sense that we're just pretending, then 
that would mean it's real-life, whereas resistance in the sense that 
the person really is resisting, except that it's assumed that they will 
ultimately submit, that's erotica?"

"Right.  The understanding of resistance is at the center of BDSM.  
Where there is a complete absence of resistance, there's nothing to 
dominate and nothing to give up by submitting, no matter whether you're 
talking about real life or erotica.  But if you inject the standard 
connotations of resistance into BDSM, it no longer works.  Erasing this 
special definition of resistance erases the BDSM understanding of 
domination and submission.  Resistance is the signifier that defines 
everything else.  And because straights have an understanding of 
'resistance' that doesn't include any of these concepts, they don't get 
BDSM."

She smiled.

"So many complications in getting off."

"It goes beyond getting off.  There are plenty of people in long term 
relationships, people truly in love, who practice BDSM."

"I believe so."

And I know so, I thought.  But that didn't really need saying at this 
point.

"The reason straights don't understand that is because the conventional 
connotations of resistance are so alien to the conventional notion of 
love.  The BDSM connotations aren't."

She nodded.

"No.  Apparently not."

"So instead you get straights trying to psychoanalyze BDSM and read all 
sorts of sinister meanings into it, like low self-esteem, latent 
aggression, childhood sexual abuse, and all sorts of stuff like that.  
They don't realize that the cultures are simply speaking two different 
languages."

She nodded again.

"Good."

"So I think I know where I'm going to go with this now."

She picked up the outline again and turned a few pages, reading 
something.

"This dominant you mention . . . "

"Mistress Rebecca."

"Is she a tall woman, with black hair and blue eyes?  A lawyer?  She 
would be about forty by now."

My jaw dropped slowly.  I hadn't described her at all in my discussion.

"Yes."

Phoebe smiled.

"I think perhaps I might have known her once.  You didn't happen to 
catch her last name?"

"Powell."

The smile broadened.

"One of my college roommates was named Rebecca Powell.  We've since 
lost touch, but we were close at one time."

As I stared at her in amazement, the college professor sitting in front 
of me slowly morphed into something else.

"Was she . . . ?"

"Back then?"  She chuckled softly.  "Nothing you need to be concerned 
with, Danny.  Let's not lose our perspective here."

Life imitating art?  Art imitating life?  You tell me.  I'd like to 
say, "we lived happily ever after," just like Elizabeth and the Duke, 
but real life is a bit more complicated than that.  You can't tie up a 
relationship like you can tie up a story.  What you can do, though, is 
keep writing sequels, of a sort.  I'll even help start it for you: 
"Once upon a time, there was a submissive named Danielle, who loved her 
master Danny as much as she loved being tied to a rack . . ."  

Go on.  You can take it from there.  Love is quite a signifier, after 
all.