I grew to despise going out. I dreamed of how my life would have been if I had never met him. Had never experienced BDSM. Would I have moved from Chicago to further my acting career? Would I be on Broadway by now? In films? Found someone who cared for me and didn't treat me like a sex toy?
In our final days, he spent the duration of our time in the private room hitting me with some object and getting off with his own hand. There was no intimacy at all. No sex. Not even orally. On many occasions, he couldn't even get it up if he wanted to have intercourse.
He never touched my face and only left marks that my clothes covered. Even though no one else could see them, I knew that they were there. He seemed to specifically plan our most intense sessions around when I was modeling. It wasn't until later that I found out he was getting a weekly schedule from my agent of when I'd have a photo shoot...and what for. She apologized profusely when I confronted her, that he'd told her some lie about me being forgetful and he didn't want me to miss any appointments.
Only once was there an issue. A photographer had wanted to change the date on a shoot for a bikini spread. I had to lie about having the flu because Jimmy had left welts on the backs of my thighs the night before. I later wondered if he had intentionally marked me to damage my chances on this career path as well.
I had been modeling for six months when we went to the club one Friday night after a long shoot that had been rife with problems. Half of the wardrobe had not been delivered. One of the models got glass in her hair when a light broke. And both the photographer's assistant and another model got sick from the yogurt that had been provided for breakfast. As a result, the photographer was in a bad mood and couldn't decide which outfits he liked better so we kept having to change.
I was so exhausted and just wanted to unwind once I got home, but Jimmy insisted we go out. I knew not to disagree. So I changed into the outfit he had laid out and followed him downstairs to catch a cab.
He surprised me by getting us drinks at the bar. We didn't dance, but I appreciated the chance to sit down for a while and let the music and alcohol relax me. When we did go upstairs, he laid me back on the bed and fingered me until I came. Then he had me kneel before him and suck his cock. But he wasn't getting hard. No matter what I did, it didn't help.
I cried as he grabbed my arm and jerked up to lean me over the padded saw-horse bench so he could spank my ass. He kept telling me that he had gotten me off, now it was his turn. After switching to a crop, he continued until the pain exceeded pleasure. I used the safe word, but he didn't stop. When I screamed at him, he pulled my hair and told me that he was my Master so I had to do what he said, which was to shut up because we both knew I liked it.
I was sobbing when he finally removed his arm from where he had put most of his weight on my back. He insisted we go dance, and he just snarled at me when I whimpered from the soreness as I put my clothes back on. Downstairs, I was thankful for the darkness to hide my tears. I really wanted to go home now, but I kept my mouth shut.
I was so tired, only his thick arm around my middle was holding me up. I couldn't even keep my arms around his neck. They flopped limply at my sides like a ragdoll as he moved us around to the music.
He must have been ready to give it a second try as he ushered me through the crowd toward the hallway and stairway that led up to the private rooms. He was holding my arm so tightly that I cried out. We were halfway up the stairs when he released his grip, which made me lose my balance.
I don't know if he intentionally pushed me or if it had been an accident, but I fell backwards. I screamed. The sound was lost in the loud music that was only slightly muffled in the narrow passageway.
I grabbed at the railing and succeeded in slowing my descent, but I jarred my left shoulder in the process. Although my upper body came to a stop as my hand gripped the cold metal bar, my feet kept going. The back of my head hit the wall as I landed with my left foot pinned underneath me at an odd angle, my right leg stretched out across the floor, and my body splayed lewdly across the last two stairs.
Jimmy yanked me upright before I could get my bearings and dragged me back up the stairs. Every hobbling step I took sent fire shooting from my left ankle and leg. My shoulder was no better. I had hot tears coursing down my cheeks, and I was biting my lip so hard from the pain that I tasted blood. We had reached the landing where the flight turned when a dark-haired man met us on his way down.
Maybe it was providence. Maybe just luck. Whatever it was, our eyes locked
