Claire Reborn Ch. 04

Claire Recounts her upbringing and perspective on what happened with Jack. I have tried to avoid the typical and often boring error of just recounting events from a different point of view. The reader begins to gain an appreciation of what makes Claire tick. Is she truly a sub?

New readers of this series should read the previous three chapters. Because this is not just a different perspective recounting of the exact same events you may be less entertained by this chapter without that knowledge.

*****

"I know his name; Jack. It's funny it took a whole day to find that out. My body's so sore. Jack," I thought again as I lay snuggled up to him. His cock pushed at my back, and I thought of the times I had seen it angry. I longed to feel it in me, but I feared I might not be able to take it, I was so small.

I cursed at how stupid I'd been. Tony had been such a dick on the plane. He was so needy, and coming off the horse he could be so edgy. I'd never realized why I needled him so much but, as I thought back on it, what Jack said made sense.

***

My father had been so good to me as a child. I'd never had to worry about anything. This big, warm block of a man who was always there for me. He was always hugging me in a fatherly way; big bear hugs, his laughter resonating in my ears. My home had been this calm oasis of soothing warmth.

But then he'd died when I was fifteen. My mother was useless afterward and I was left alone to fend for myself, trying to cope. I was a late bloomer and still hadn't had my period. Things quickly got out of control. Try being the only girl in your grade without a sign of femininity, and a good half foot shorter than everyone else. My safe warm life was turned upside down. I'd done well at school, but now I was slipping. The stress was incredible.

Then I got mono. How, I don't know. They call it the kissing disease but I sure hadn't been kissing anyone. Far from it. I was laid out in bed for weeks, and I lost a lot of weight, which I could little afford to lose. While I was sick my mother was stressed out and yelled at me a lot. I guess she was suffering from having to support the family, pay for doctor's visits, and tend to a sick child.

When I was finally better, her attitude didn't change, and I lashed back. I decided I wouldn't eat. Call it anorexia, call it what you want. This I would control, no matter what my mother said. As a result of my severely restricted intake I still hadn't had my period; in fact I could have passed for thirteen on my eighteenth birthday.

We lived in Lomen, Wyoming, a small god-fearing, republican-voting town in southern Wyoming, not far from Salt Lake City. Sex education was definitely not in the curriculum. Wouldn't want us kids getting any ideas. What I was taught about sex and the female body you could write on a small piece of paper. Even then half of it was probably wrong. I was sure that my mother would have curled up and died if I had ever asked her anything about it.

One day, shortly after my birthday my only friend told me about her cousin, and how she cut herself. I was curious, and one night found myself lying naked in bed with an exacto blade. I was propped on some pillows looking down at myself, skinny legs spread. I reached down and drew the edge very slowly over my skin for about two inches. It hurt at first but then it didn't. Well, it did, but in a different way. It was like an electric thrill running through my body. Then I moved to my other leg and inscribed an identical line. I surprised myself when a small moan escaped my throat.

It was then I realized where that thrill in my body had gone. My crotch was on fire. I ran my fingers up my slit and found them wet. This had never happened before. Rubbing up and down, I mixed the blood with my lubrication. It looked like the worst period of a girl's life, if I'd ever had one. I spread it on the cuts, the salt in my cream stinging sharply. But it felt good in a way. I giggled, but then my fingers found my clit, and began to circle. Holy shit! My legs fell open and for some reason my other hand sought my hole. That's what I called it back then. My hole. My finger slipped in and delved deeper until it found my hymen. I thought that was the extent of my pussy. I was pretty naive.

I began to slide in and out as my finger circled my clit faster and faster. I realized that I was panting very loud and scared myself. "What if mom heard." I had to control my breathing, which only made things worse. My clit throbbed and I suddenly slapped it with my hand.

An explosion had gone off in my gut, warm fluid seeming to flow there. I gasped, and quickly grabbed a pillow to shriek into, my legs clamping on my other hand. I felt that feeling in your gut you get when the roller-coaster goes over a bump real fast, like falling. Warm waves pulsed from my core up into my chest and down to my toes. I thought it would never end, but slowly I caught my breathe and settled down. I felt as if I had just run a marathon. It had been years since I had been that relaxed. I quickly fell asleep.

Next morning my bed looked like a scene from an ax murder. I grabbed the sheets and quickly took them to the laundry room, hiding the worst of the blood from my mother. She was surprised. "You finally got your period." Later she gave me a pamphlet she had got from the drug store. That was the extent of my sexual health teaching from mom.

Back in my room I sat on my bed admiring my cuts. The blood had clotted but they were still tender. It was fortunate I had space between my thighs and they didn't rub. I felt proud of them at the time. Thinking back I now realize the reason. They were mine. They showed my mastery over my body. I was in control in a different way. And God, didn't it feel good?

From that day on things got better for me. I started to eat again, and a few months later my period came for real. I even started to grow boobs, although they never got really big. I even grew a few inches. I was never going to be an amazon, but at least I fit in better with the other girls my senior year. My pubic hair never came in too thick, but that was fine with me as I guess I had gotten used to being bald down there for so long.

I wasn't as anxious, but every few days I would place two more cuts on my legs, evenly spaced. I grew proud of those lines, so neatly inscribed. They were like a badge of honor for me. They symbolized my control of my life. And of course I gave myself an orgasm to go with the cuts.

I had taken ballet lessons since I was five. My father had loved to come and watch. When he died I stopped. As I began to put on weight I still looked anemic. I certainly no longer felt like the swan he had called me, rather an ugly duckling. When I started cutting and realized I had a better form of control, I took up ballet again. I had to get a job to pay for the lessons as mom thought it was a waste of time.

I really threw myself into the lessons, and my body responded, my new weight turning into lithe muscle, my thighs and calves took on new form. I liked to watch myself in the mirror at the barre, and when I was stretching my legs on the barre I would look at my crotch and imagine the neat lines down my thighs. I could feel them as the fresh scabs made my skin pull. I always wore opaque tights so that the others would not see them.

There were a number of instructors at the school, but my regular was Madam Olga, an old Russian emigre who would often tell us tales of the Bolshoi. She had only been in the troupe, never a star, but still it sounded amazing.

One day she was ill and we had a sub, Jonathon. He strutted around barking commands at us. I was working en-pointe when he came up behind me and slapped my ass sharply, barking, "straighten up." The shock ran from my ass right to my pussy. Then a moment later he did it again on my other cheek. Shocked, I looked up at him in the mirror, eyes ablaze. He looked back, and I realized he was looking at my camel-toe. I looked down surprised, then embarrassed, to see a wet spot. Our eyes met and a knowing look came into his eye. "You, I want to talk with after class." Then he stomped off to abuse some other poor girl.

The rest of the class I could not stop thinking of how I had reacted. I desperately tied to think other thoughts in the hopes my wet spot would not grow. Finally, I excused myself and went to the washroom to dry myself.

The class was dispersing when I returned and Jonathon beckoned me over. "Madam Olga tells me you are to be in the recital. If so, you need to work harder. Your line is all wrong. You must keep your back straighter. He turned me to the bar and stood behind me. "Begin!"

I began to work through the routine. As I moved from fifth to demi-pointe and extended my left foot tendu he grabbed my shoulders pulling them back. "Shoulders back, chest out, head up, back straight." I almost fell, but recovered. He was brutal in his direction, unlike Madam Olga who directed with light touches of her fingertips.

As I bowed, arms outstretched, he slapped my ass again, "Back flat, you are not an old crone." Again that lightening bolt to my core. When I stood up and looked in the mirror I was shocked to see my tights pulled up into my pussy, which was now split, my nether lips having swollen. A dark line of damp filled the valley. I felt as I had the first time I cut myself, that warm feeling.

He waved his hands to stop me. "No, no, no. Stop!" By now the studio was empty and the windows dark. "This simply won't do. Your heart is not in it."

I was frustrated, in more ways than one. I had been trying and I thought I had been good. Madame Olga had not questioned my ability. But worse, I was horny. I was on fire, and in the mirror I could see the flush in my neck and chest. My nipples protruded through my top.

"You are not motivated. Perhaps a bit of discipline will help. Come with me." He pulled a chair out and sat down. "Bend over here." He indicated his knees.

"Wh... what are you doing?"

"I told you, you lack discipline. It appears your family has spared the rod. You are spoiled and don't work hard. I will correct that. Bend over."

I hesitated. A big part of me thrilled at the idea of being spanked, but I knew this wasn't right.

"Now, or do you not want to be in the recital? One word from me and you are out."

Biting my lip I stepped forward and leaned over his knee. My hands hung down, not quite touching the floor. His hand came down with a crack, and my head shot up.

"We shall do ten today and see if that helps."

He was very slow and methodical, moving his target around to ensure that he struck all areas of my ass equally. By the third stroke I felt a cool sensation on my thigh. I was leaking profusely and the wind from his hand cooled the dew which rapidly spread across my tights. By the sixth stroke I had begun to moan slowly to myself. This was so much better than the cutting.

I found myself wishing he would strike harder. The pain was mixing with the pleasurable feeling at the juncture of my thighs. I wiggled around a bit until one of his knees pressed on my clit. Each slap now delivered a bump to my clit which felt incredibly good. I no longer cared whether he knew how I was responding. I only wanted release. My moans were echoing off the walls of the studio know as the ninth and tenth strike landed.

Then he pushed me to my knees. His eyes were wild and I saw a large lump in his crotch. "Come here, girl. I have something for you." He began to slide his pants down.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"

I fell back startled. He looked shocked, his pants halfway down his thighs and his erection out. It was the first erection I had seen, but it was only a brief glimpse as he jumped up pulling on his pants.

In the door of the studio stood the owner, a woman of formidable size and temper. She loved the ballet, but at six-foot-two and one hundred and eighty pounds had stood no chance of being a professional.

Jonathan was dissembling wildly, "I was only disciplining this student. She was not working up --"

"BULLSHIT! I know what I saw! You're fired! Get your things and get out of here now!"

Grabbing his bag he ran out the door scrambling to avoid the owner. She slammed the door, then turned to me. "Are you alright?"

I nodded dumbly. My mind and body were at war with each other. I was confused, scared, and frustrated, all at the same time. But most of all I was excited and horny. I stammered, "Th..thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't me --"

"Don't sweat it honey. I suspected that asshole had been up to hanky panky for some time now." She looked me up and down, noting my obviously aroused state. "Hmmm, looks like you're no worse for wear, but maybe I came in too soon. Maybe you would have welcomed his attentions."

I felt the heat in my cheeks as I blushed, and closed my eyes.

"Don't worry honey, we've all been there before. Let me see if I can help." She sat on the floor, wrapped her arm around me and pulled me in tight. I lay my head against her not insignificant bust and felt warm and soft like when my father would hug me. Her fingertips circled on my stomach lightly, not quite tickling. It felt nice.

Then I felt warmth as the hand on my shoulder moved casually to my breast. She plucked my nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. Liquid fire flowed from breast to clit and I groaned, desperately trying not to respond. She knew what to do though. Her hand slid into my sleeveless top and gently massaged my tiny breast. I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror. I was sprawled legs akimbo. I could see her looking back at me, a gentle smile on her face.

My own face I didn't recognize. A look of wanton desire stared back at me, my mouth agape, gasping lightly as she played with my breast. I could see the hand under my top and that excited me. Looking me straight in the mirror her smiled turned wicked and she pinched my nipple savagely. My eyes shot open and loud moan emerged from my mouth. Then I shocked myself when I saw my grimace turn to a satisfied smile, my eyes hooded.

Distracted as I was I had not noticed her other hand until it undid the snaps in the crotch of my top. Then she slid beneath my tights and slid her thumb and forefinger down opposite sides of my clit squeezing it gently. My hips bucked upward. "Unhh!"

She cooed into my ear, "Let mama take care of this honey." Her upper hand slid further under my top to reach my other breast and again pinched me viciously; at the same time she squeezed my clit. I was panting now and on the edge.

She stopped! Laughing gently to herself, her hands stilled. I moaned pitifully. "Yes, I know honey, it feels so good, but momma is going to make it feel even better." She grabbed my whole breast kneading it gently, her other hand sliding down until two fingers slid into my hole. It was a very tight ftr and they came up short.

"I would never have guessed. For such a wicked slut you seem to have been a good girl. I'm going to do you a favor honey. No one should have to deal with this the first time they have a man. Men are such idiots."

She began to stroke in and out of me, her thumb resting on and sliding over my clit. I felt the tidal wave gathering, my legs spread wide, I keened, "Oh, oh, oh." My hips thrust upward as my muscles clenched. She pinched my nipple again, taking me higher. The pain was exquisite. Then, when I thought it couldn't get any better, she thrust her fingers deep into my hole. There was a stab of pain so close to the ecstasy of my clit that I could not separate them. The most potent orgasm of my life enveloped me. I was falling and molten blood ran through my veins. I writhed on the floor trying to catch my breathe until I passed out.

I woke a bit later to that familiar feeling of mushy muscles. I stretched, then started. I was half naked on the floor of the studio. There was dull ache in my pussy. I carefully reached down and inserted a finger. There was no longer anything in the way and I could insert the entire length of my finger with some difficulty. It felt strange, and yet wonderful. As I felt around I could feel the remnants of what had been in the way, small flaps of tissue. Later I learned this was the physical manifestation of my virginity.

When I pulled my fingers out I found blood, and was worried that some of my cuts had opened, but no they were fine. I realized it must have come from whatever had been in the way. Thinking back now, I realize how ignorant I was of some things. Mom said nothing, the girls I hung around with were clueless, and the school absolutely useless.

My first two sexual encounters with other people had occurred within minutes of each other and both helped to cement my association of pain with pleasure. After that things went downhill.

It was amazing I did as well as I did in School, but then again I'd figured out how to feed the beast that was my anxiety. I graduated with honors, but fate had other things in store for me than college.

In the last few months of senior year I started dating Nate. I thought the world of him. He was big, strong from working his father's farm, and we thought we were in love. Nate hated the farm though and as soon as he got the opportunity he wanted to move to New York City.

Nate wasn't your typical boyfriend in that he never really pushed me much for sex. In fact, more often than not I would initiate things. He really liked to fuck me from behind. I loved it when he did, as he would spank my ass, and occasionally pull on my hair. Sometimes though he would not be able to get off. If I was in any way sympathetic or said anything about it he would get really mad and start to hit me. Never in the face, only where it couldn't be seen. He was particularly prone to striking out at my breasts or grabbing them and twisting them. This would really get me going, but more often than not her would leave me hanging. Afterward he would be really sorry, and we would spoon, his big arms around me like my father had done. We would lie there and talk about moving to New York and what we would do there.

On my eighteenth birthday I had received a small amount of money as inheritance from my father's death. Nate had been saving up himself. Between the two of us we thought we had enough to stake us to six months in New York to see if we could make a go of it. Once school was out, without a word to our parents, we set off for New York.

I picked up some work in the chorus of a few off-Broadway shows, but my heart wasn't in it. I loved the dancing, I just knew this wasn't going to be my career. Funnily enough I'd always had an interest in engineering. My dad had been a Civil Engineer working for the county. For the time being though working as a waitress filled the gaps.

Nate got a job working as a bouncer in a bar in Chelsea. He'd be out quite late, usually coming in at three in the morning. One night after a particularly long dry spell I woke to him getting into bed. Turning to snuggle up to him, I reached into his boxers and took hold of his cock. He pushed me away.

"C'mon honey, it's been a while and I'm horny. Let me get you in the mood."

He turned away, saying, "Another night, I'm tired."

I wasn't having any of it. Masturbating might take the edge off, and I was still cutting myself, but I needed a good rough fuck. That's when I made my mistake. "Be a man Nate. I want a good fuck. Can't you get it up?"

Spinning around in the bed and throwing off the covers he yelled, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

Now I was excited. This was my thing, get him going. "I said be a man. Let's see that thing get angry. Or aren't you into women." Well, that was a mistake, but I didn't know it at the time. He went ballistic. He grabbed my hair and pulled me down on to the bed. Ripping my nightie off he then proceeded to whip me with his belt. The pain was searing, and I didn't like it. He was laying into me with all the strength in his body and it was too intense. I swear I could feel skin peeling off my back.