The Fallen Angel

“Let’s talk about some of these fantasies you mentioned earlier”

“My darker fantasies…?”

“Yes, those ones.”

“Right.” I took a large gulp to try and clear my throat that felt too small for air. I shifted my fingers in my lap and brought my eyes back up to those waiting across from me. His warm eyes were slightly lifted upwards, a kind yet distant smile pasted on his face. I’ve learned all of his trained expressions by now. I mean, after meeting with him for so many months now, it’d be difficult not to see how he controls his reactions to the fucked-up things I’ve told him. The first time I hinted at being a nymphomaniac, I studied at him closely to gauge his reaction as the words fell from my lips. He quickly and professionally shifted upwards towards me, showing me, this wouldn’t throw him off, that he was committed to me. But I saw that slight flare of excitement in his eyes. It was only a slight sparkle for less than a second, but it was there. I’ve tried ever since then to forget I saw it, to be better than I have in the past. This is why I’m here right? To control my urges, but sometimes they’re so strong. Sometimes they take over my body and I’m helpless to do anything. I squeeze my legs together real tight as the fantasy begins to flood my brain, I wiggle and worm in myself seeking friction to get myself off…

“Rosanna?”

My head clears bringing me back to this office. To the soft cushioned couch, I sit on, folding my legs together.

“It’s okay if this is too much for you”

“No. I need to” I gulp again “get it out.”

“To release…”

Yes. Gods he has no idea how much I need release. I’m insufferable. I’m desperate.

“Please, begin” he says softly.

“Shall we begin with the ones that keep me up at night? I lay in bed all night trying to go to sleep but all my mind can do is circle around the same thoughts.”

“And what are those thoughts.”

“The ones where I’m being shared.”

“By whom, Rosanna?”

“Anyone, everyone. Sometimes it’s a father and his older son, sometimes it’s brothers, other times it’s just a group of guys in which I don’t know how they’re related but they’re sharing me…”

“And in these fantasies do you know the men sharing you?”

“No, they’re always strangers. I come across them walking on the street, or they are working on my house, or my car.”

He nods silently as he writes in his journal in his lap. I don’t know what more to say.

“Can you describe in detail what it is about that fantasy that draws you in? Is it the lack of personal connection between you and the men? Perhaps the feeling of being” now he’s the one clearing his throat “Used.”

I take a deep breathe in.

“Easy Rosanna” he coaxes “the best way to heal ourselves is to know what there is to heal. We must look deep within ourselves and truly know the demons we face in order to understand them and change them.”

“Right.” I say with a nod, picking at my fingers now.

“I guess its uh, the feeling of both. I can’t deny I get butterflies thinking of being “used” in that way. I guess that’s where the sharing part comes from.”

“Go on. You’re doing great”

“Well, I also like the fact that I don’t know them, and they don’t know me.”

“Interesting, can you explain that last part a little more?”

“I… I like that they don’t know me because it makes me feel like they chose me off so little.”

“You like being chosen, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I was never used to being chosen growing up. By the boys at my school, by my friends, or my parents.”

“We’ve talked about the effects of childhood trauma and it’s relationship with our needs as sexual beings. I’m very proud of you for making that connection all on your own.”

I smile slightly, not really knowing what else to do.

“Let’s continue with your other fantasies. Tell me about the ones that concern you. The ones you don’t say out loud.”

“Um. Okay. Well in my dreams I’m often…” deep breath in “I’m often kidnapped. Then tied up and used.”

“There’s more isn’t there?” he asks as he leans closer.

“Yes…I have fantasies about being forced to drink beyond my limit…”

“Keep going” he says it so deeply it nearly sounds as a growl.

“And being used in my sleep. Or to be put to sleep by someone’s hand around my throat while they use me.”

“So, this reoccurring theme of being used, you don’t like to be on top or in control at all?”

“No. Not in these fantasies. In these fantasies I am helpless to the other. All I can do is take it, and I enjoy it.”

“Clearly.”

My eyes jump to his. His face is more stern now, like he’s holding something back, maybe himself. “I’m not judging. It’s just evident that you seek a lack of control and when you get it in these fantasies, you revel in it. Tell me have you ever thought about being hurt in these?”

“There’s always some level of pain to them yes.”

“But beyond that. Beyond the bdsm pain we’ve discussed before.”

“I guess so.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay well, I’ve fantasized about having a knife held to my throat. I’ve thought about how easy it would be to breathe too deeply and cut myself under someone’s knife, and how they might smile at it and grow harder on top of me.”

“Anything else?”

“Always.”

We both shift more erect, intent on seeing this through.

“I’ve thought about what it might be like to have a gun held near me…” I admit as my eyes fall away from his. This is the darkest one, the scariest one in my opinion. The gun is so dangerous and there are so many ways for it to go wrong, and the fucked up part is I know that. And part of the fun is trusting someone enough to not actually hurt me, solely for the reason that they enjoy playing with me too much to kill me.

“I can see the wheels turning in your mind, please share” he says gently.

“I was just thinking about the fear having a gun near me incites, and how much I like it. I think about the cold feeling of that steel forcing me to cooperate. Or how it would feel inside of me .”

“You get off on fear, is that right?”

“Fear and pleasure. It has to be both. Too much of fear is not a good time, too much of pleasure is boing. But if I’m scared, and being played with at the same time… Well, I can’t control what happens after that.”

“And what does happen, after that?” he asks so gently I don’t even notice he’s gotten up from his seat and begun to walk towards me. I don’t see him until I see his feet in the part of the floor I’ve been staring at. Slowly I look up at him, he’s staring down at me and I fight to keep my thoughts neutral despite the cold stare only turns me on. It’s the same look that all the men in my dreams have, and he knows it.

“I… I…”

“Keep going, Rosanna.”

“You… I… I-”

His hand is on my throat, his face close to mine, my back is pressed hard up against the couch as I try to breathe around him.

“You’re intolerable you know that… I have resisted you for as long as I can. You come in here and make me listen to your pathetic whore adventures for months, and you tell me how much you like to be used like a fucking toy, but you can’t even speak when I’m two feet in front of you”

I whimper underneath him, his body weight pressing all over me and holding me down. My eyes dart for the clock on the wall but he grabs my face and pulls my attention back to him. “Don’t look at the clock little whore. I don’t have any more sessions today, no one is going to come knocking. You’re stuck with me” he whispers, his breath blowing on my face. I can feel his hard cock between us pressing up against me with need. Fuck, is this a dream? Is this one of my fantasies or is this real? I don’t care, I arch up to him and press up against him. “I’m glad to know you weren’t lying to me. You do like being used, don’t you? I bet if I put my hand in your panties right now, you’d be a dripping fucking mess under me. Would I be right?”

I don’t answer as his hand dives between my legs, aggressively pulling my sheer panties to the side under my short skirt. “Dirty little girl, I was right.”