Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Dark Secret Love: A Story of Submission

Dark Secret Love

Excerpt from “Prologue: Behind Blue Eyes”

Some men just know.
            I’ve been lucky enough to find those men several times in my life.
            When I was eighteen, a senior in high school, I met Brock at a concert. I didn’t have to tell him anything. He saw me and gave me his number scrawled on a paper napkin. Call me, was all it said. I could barely wait until dawn the next day to dial the digits.
            During our first kiss (moments into our first date), he bit my bottom lip so hard that when I ran my tongue over the indents, I could feel the echo of pain—that tiny spark.
There are days I swear I still feel his lips on mine. He held my glossy dark ponytail firmly in his fist when he kissed me, pulling a little too tightly, telling me in that subtle way that he was in charge.
            He was spanking me regularly by that weekend.
            Some men just know.
            Brock would come to my high school at lunchtime and take my panties off, sliding them into his pocket so that I was forced to spend the rest of the day bare under my skirt. He would slip me away on his Harley for twenty-minute quickies that always involved his belt, or his leather motorcycle gloves, or his open hand on my bare ass.
            I’d spent my whole life being as good a girl as I possibly could, and Brock let me know it wasn’t enough. I could never be good enough. I would always fail in some unforeseen way, and he would be forced to punish me.
            Because he knew.
            On the night of our first date, as we walked through the darkness near my house, he stopped and pressed me up against the side of a parked car. “What’s your secret fantasy?” he murmured, so soft against my skin. “You can tell me, baby. You can tell me anything.”
            My goal, my dream, my deepest desires have always rested in taking it. Lowering my head, gritting my teeth, and bearing the pain, the humiliation. But I couldn’t tell him that. I stared at him in the glow of the streetlight, and then looked down. Brock instantly tilted my face to his. “When I ask you a question,” he said, his voice more stern now, “I expect a response.”
            A delicious chill ran through me.
            I hadn’t needed to say a word.
            Brock understood. He was on me in a heartbeat, and he never let up.
            There were days I had to wear long-sleeved shirts to cover the evidence that I’d spent part of the weekend cuffed to his bed. There were days I couldn’t sit right in class, when I stared up at the board or tried to focus on the discussion but saw nothing, heard nothing.
            He made me talk, eventually. I didn’t get away with coy glances, with wishful, wistful expressions. He tied me down and asked his questions, and he forced me to answer every single one.
            Brock was more than a decade my senior, and he possessed a chiseled jaw and those ice-blue eyes from the famous Who song. He wouldn’t even have to speak to me, simply shoot me a look, and I would lower my head in silent submission, knowing that somehow, in some unexpected way, I’d failed him.
            Because he wanted me to fail.
            Of course, by failing, I won. When I misbehaved for him, he made all my fantasies come true. And it wasn’t long before I realized that high-school life and my world with Brock were parallel universes that didn’t have anything else in common—they were running side by side on twin tracks. I felt as if I were in a dream as I walked through the quad, watching the popular kids up on the wall, the jocks out by the basketball court, the stoners behind the gym. I faked everything from eight to three, not coming alive again until Brock picked me up on his Harley. I was smart enough to do well in class simply by going through the motions. But I no longer had a desire to fit in.

            I think we are all hardwired for what we crave.

About the Author/Editor
Alison Tyler has made being naughty a full-time job. Her sultry short stories appear in more than 100 anthologies, and she is a prolific editor of bestselling erotic anthologies like Twisted, Bound for Trouble, and The Big Book of Bondage. In all things important, she remains faithful to her husband of 15 years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume. Find her at and

Purchasing Links:

Dark Secret Love: A Story of Submission by Alison Tyler

Twisted: Bondage with an Edge edited by Alison Tyler

The Big Book of Bondage: Sexy Tales of Erotic Restraint edited by Alison Tyler

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