As I stuck the list to the back of the door, it seemed like I was rearranging my world, like this was something that was of world-wrenching importance. Why?
The rules were as sensible as I could make them. Jodie hadn’t understood why I needed them up in plain view when we’d already figured them out. I didn’t know either, not really, but it was important. This enactment of hers was making me doubt my own psyche for the first time since I was a teenager.
The Rules.
1. No sexual contact.
2. Filming is not allowed in the bathroom area.
3. No nudity
4. Bondage is allowed.
5. No physical damage to either of us.
I blinked. Number five was why I’d downgraded Jodie’s initial idea of enacting some sort of struggle and carrying-off routine. Ridiculous. That was asking for someone to be injured.
“Bye.” Seated on the mattress, with her arms around the front of her legs, she looked comfortable. Very comfortable.
I just nodded as I pulled the door shut. I didn’t say goodbye. She wasn’t going anywhere for four weeks. The little window in the solid door had a sliding cover. After one last look, I shut it too. Up above on the wall to my right, the light on the camera blinked green at me.
All set.
The back verandah of her house looked out over the forest toward the sea a hundred feet below. The timber of the rail was warm under the grip of my palms. Wings spread, a sulfur-crested cockatoo sailed across the sky—white against the backdrop of gray-green foliage—a perfect metaphor for freedom.
Here I was, free, and she was back there. This was going to take some getting used to. Funny though, as well as a bit of anxiety, like her, there was almost an excitement, or an anticipation? Perhaps. Foregoing my annual holiday to Fiji might have been a good decision after all.
In the quiet, with only the wind and the sky about me, I dared to turn that question over in my mind again. Why? I think I could see now that there was something sexual. My balls had tightened when I’d locked the door and the observation window, and turned my back on her. I liked knowing she was there and couldn’t get out without my say-so. Weird, but understanding your own mind is the key to controlling it. There was no point in ignoring my motivations.
I’d partly said yes to this because I knew her and if I hadn’t agreed, she’d have found someone else. That was not going to happen. I shuddered to think what another man would do with a woman tied up in his basement. Not that it was my basement, or that she was tied up. Hypothetically though, it would have happened.
But I was a normal man. I had fantasies. The difference between normal and wrong was in how you acted, in your restraint. When someone cut me off on the road, I might dream of a nuclear missile descending on their car and blowing them to smithereens, but I didn’t act. I didn’t grab a crowbar and beat them with it. I had fantasies about Jodie. I was avoiding them in a way, still. As yet, I didn’t want to let myself see most of them. I could taste them, though, at the periphery. This alone, standing on the edge of an abyss into my deeper psyche, was by itself thrilling.
I’d never really figured out the hold she had on me. For all that Jodie had never cut herself loose from me, I’d done the same. Maybe this would settle things and I could stop this absurd need to rescue her from her disasters? Maybe when she got drunk in a few months’ time, I wouldn’t be there.
Chapter Three
Jodie
‡
After a day of sitting in the room by myself, I was bored. I’d done my planned daily sit-ups and knee bends, and practiced dance routines, including the Charleston, a dance I’m sure Klaus would think was some queer re-enactment of a chicken going into a frenzy. But now I was bored. This wasn’t a mind fuck. This was like the worst holiday ever, where the weather was so disastrous you had to stay in your hotel room and read and watch TV. Only you’d forgotten to pack some books, and the power was out. Okay, bad analogy. I had power. I wrinkled my nose and hugged my knees and stared up at the fluorescent tube. I also had a day of nothing much on film.
Maybe Klaus was planning to bore me to death. When he brought in meals he’d been more taciturn than usual. Which meant he’d said all of three words each time. Next time he came in I’d—
The door opened. Lunch. Chicken Caesar salad would be nice. I jumped to my feet and straightened the bottom of my T-shirt from where it had curled up onto my midriff. Annoyance flickered in me when I saw he’d not even bothered to glance at my bared skin. Was I that unappealing? Once upon a time, we’d had a passion for each other.
I sighed at the plate he carried. Over-cooked steak peeked from between two pieces of bread. Cardboard again. “Damn.”
“What?” The plate deposited on the floor, he was already stepping away. He waited with his hands relaxed by his sides.
“What? You know this isn’t going to get anyone all excited about my film. This—” I waved my arms in the general direction of the entire room. “Is not good enough! Boring me. Feeding me terrible bland meals. It’s…it’s dead fucking boring. Okay?”
“Okay.” He nodded as he spoke. “And what do you suggest?”
Uncomfortable, I shifted my feet. I had thought about this. “Your list…look the whole point of the capture fantasy is that you take charge.”
“My list? And what’s on there?” His expression was as dead as that steak. Flat, dead, not giving away a thing.
Hmm. Klaus was not that thick. Heat seeped into my cheeks. I knew the list by heart and so must he. We’d pretty much agreed on this already, before this began. For a moment, my tongue refused to move.
“Bondage. Try that. And you’ve got to get more into the swing of things.” I lifted my wrists then shrugged and made a dismissive face, even though the very idea of Klaus tying me up had instantly made way more than my face get hot.
Now, he smiled. “I’ll be back. One second.” He held up one finger, backed away, then he turned on his heel and reached for the door.
The door closed and locked, and I heard him walk upstairs. Maybe we should have written a script. Ugh. I could imagine Klaus doing his fake German accent while growling at me. You vill do ze dishes and mop ze floor! Yes, so scary. Not. I made an exaggerated sad face. Oh boy.
But bondage was the only thing specifically positive on that list. All the rest were no-nos. He’d deliberately waited for me to say it, hadn’t he? Was that his version of a mind-twisting dilemma? I sighed. This was so not working. And he thought he’d have me doing the dishes. Damn. The hot chef from the Thai restaurant would have been a better deal.
Realistically, my other male friends were either wimpy or too odd or not into women. Andrew, for one, was so gay the flowers burst into bloom when he wandered by. Klaus had once held me down on the bed, so I knew he had a little spirit even if he was an accountant. That he’d let go immediately when I protested was good though. And he’d rescued me more than once from a drunken state at a party, dusted me off, taken me home, and been a perfect gentleman. This was after we were no longer a couple too. He’d even fended off one stupid admirer who’d threatened me.
Once, I was pretty sure, I’d thrown up in his car. So, extra Samaritan points for taking pity on a pissed-out-of-her-skull ex-girlfriend. Yet he’d been the one who ended our girlfriend, boyfriend thing. Extra, extra points for helping a girlfriend you’d dumped.
I’d never quite figured out what had made us unclick. You know that moment when you click? Well we’d done the opposite. And yet as stark as a photograph made larger than life, I would never forget how gentle he’d been the few times I’d been ill. How caring. Maybe he had some nurturing babying thing going? It was a bit like the Holy Grail of womankind—finding a man who’d bring you an aspirin and mop your forehead. But it wasn’t what I needed here.
When the door opened again, Klaus carried a coil of blue rope. Soft rope, I discovered when it brushed against my skin as he threaded it through the D-rings on the cuffs. He hadn’t said anything or asked permission, he’d just don
e it. I liked that. Now this was getting somewhere.
As he towed me over beneath the O-ring that was screwed into the low ceiling beam, a confusing mix of emotions ran through me. The beams were maybe three feet above my head. I couldn’t reach them without a ladder but Klaus could. He poked the end of the rope through then led the rope to the side where another ring was attached to the wall. Slowly my arms were pulled upwards.
I’d read this enough times in books to wonder how I’d feel if it ever happened. Embarrassment vied with arousal, but was that me or the books? Was there a difference?
The rope kept moving. Klaus kept tightening it, pulling more through the wall ring, watching me. We’d set these rings up for this very purpose—for some sort of bondage. Still, I felt the urge to distract. My arms were almost at full stretch. “When are you stop—”
“Shh.” When I opened my mouth again, he added, “You want this to be your fantasy. Pretend it’s something you have no control over. And be quiet.”
I nearly choked. Had that been an order? No. No. He was just advising me. He was right though. I closed my mouth. The rope tightened some more and I went up on the balls of my feet. Bursting to tell him he’d gone far enough, I opened my mouth again, and he stopped and carefully tied the rope off.
Klaus folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. Face still, he studied me with those gray eyes.
I stared back and resisted licking my lips, or thinking about how my clit was throbbing, or anything at all of any sexual nature. I wanted him in my bed, making love to me, maybe even tying me up, but now he’d done it, I felt like a display in a shop window. Being helpless while he watched me did something odd to my insides. Like if I gave in, just let myself go, something would happen.
He wouldn’t do anything though. This was fake. Now that I was here, tied up, I could see it. A man with guts, true dominance…for this to affect me, I needed him, that imaginary man, not Klaus.
I discovered I couldn’t relax down onto my feet without the cuffs cutting into my wrists. Minutes passed. My feet ached and I flexed and teetered on my toes trying to get some relief.
“Klaus,” I whispered.
“Shh.” He put his finger to his lips. “No.”
Another few minutes passed. The ache became excruciating, my toe muscles cramped. Gasping I dropped an inch down onto my feet. A minute later my fingers were numb and the skin of my hands was going darker than seemed healthy.
Any arousal had gone south for the winter, but wasn’t this what I wanted on film? I struggled to stay silent at the same time as I alternated between resting my feet or my hands. At last I gave in.
I sobbed. “Klaus! Enough. My hands.” I looked pointedly at them. “I’m scared they aren’t getting enough blood. And this is hurting!”
“It’s predicament bondage.” He straightened and began untying the rope from the wall.
Oh God. I could stand on the flats of my feet again. Pins and needles shot into my hands. Still bound, gritting my teeth, I eyed him as he proceeded to undo all the ropes and finally reached my wrists and undid the rope from them also.
“You’ve heard of it?” As he asked, he held my hands and manipulated each finger, then he let go and stepped away.
“Yes,” I hissed and shook my hands madly as another bout of pins and needles struck. “Where did you learn about it?”
“The internet. It was interesting. I figured I should do some research so I looked it up last night.”
He’d looked it up? Somehow I’d thought he’d read it in one of my stories. Only it had hurt. Fuck. Did I want this?
As if he’d read my mind, he spoke. “Still want to keep doing this?”
Good question. I examined my hands again. I was okay. Maybe Klaus had the right mind for this after all. Chickening out seemed silly. The black spot where the camera lens poked through the wall seemed to accuse me of cowardice. “Sure. Sure I do.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Suspicious, I checked him out. Though he’d always been a man who kept his feelings close to his chest, the lack of emotion showing on his face was distinctly new.
Chapter Four
Klaus
‡
That had been the truth—I had looked up bondage with Google. Weeks ago, I’d also looked through a few kinky shops and blogs. When she first told me about this capture fantasy plan, I’d recognized that BDSM was a close match. Some offshoots of it were devoted to a sort of slavery.
My research had driven me to buy some kinky items online. I’d been curious. Handling the gags had been eye-opening. I knew people used gags, but actually feeling the leather and the weight in my hands, imagining myself buckling one on Jodie…I’d been both fascinated and repulsed. I’d put those into her box of perversion along with the cuffs. Ever since, they’d preyed on my mind like some object in a video game highlighted in glowing red.
Last night the trail of articles on the net had led me from site to fascinating site. I’d learned about a lot more than predicament bondage. I’d joined a site called Fetlife which seemed to have half the world’s kinky population on it. By the time I’d shut down the laptop, it’d been four in the morning. Of course, no site had a how-to section on running a “real” capture fantasy. It had all been BDSM, which was consensual. What we were planning was not, or not exactly.
Messing with Jodie’s mind would take a little more thought. This was like doing a jigsaw puzzle in the dark using chopsticks. Which reminded me, my God, there’d been some curious things done with chopsticks and rubber bands to women’s nipples.
But all of it, the whole time I’d looked, had made me feel slightly off balance, and wrong.
After grabbing a beer from the fridge, I sat on the couch, propped my feet up on the table, and turned the TV onto the channel with the film footage. I rewound to where she was still tied up, let the image burn into my brain, and shut my eyes.
What was it that grabbed me about that? She looked wonderful all stretched out, hands above, with the ropes and the cuffs. Was it just the curves of her body, or the fact that I’d done that to her? Or was it that she couldn’t do a thing about it once I had her there? The not talking had been voluntary, but not the bondage. I could’ve kept her there all day if I’d wanted to—if I hadn’t decided her hands had taken enough punishment.
Yeah it was that. My hard-on was back. I thought about taking care of it but no. There was something wrong about doing that.
I swigged a big mouthful and swallowed. The cold beer sang to me on the way down, and Jodie was in there eating my steak cross rhinoceros-hide sandwich. I frowned.
Another swig, another swallow. I placed the bottle on the coffee table and got up. The Chinese takeout in the oven awaited. In the stack of CDs by her stereo, I found one I’d not heard before, Tarja Turunnen. I slipped in the disc.
As I forked the shrimp chow mein onto my plate, I wondered if Jodie had been aroused by the bondage. Though I’d looked closely I hadn’t been sure. Her denim shorts, bra, and T-shirt had concealed her body too well.
With the tines of the fork, I separated out one shrimp and toyed with it, turning it in circles. One naked shrimp. Getting Jodie naked was against the rules, though she’d welcome it if I seduced her. Like the porno and the gazillion BDSM shots on the net, that idea was arousing. But I wasn’t here to just fuck her was I? That option, casual sex, had been dismissed long ago. I was missing a piece of the puzzle and could not see what it was. With our talking and arranging we’d figured out the limits of this fantasy shoot. But the whole point of messing with her mind was to reach beyond what she expected. To scare her? I’d done that today. A tiny bit. The way she’d struggled to get comfortable until slowly the pain in her hands and feet had overwhelmed her…
I let out a long breath through my teeth. Even if I lost the video, I’d never forget that.
And yet, I also felt horrified that I’d done that. How could I be both? It drew me and it appalled me all at the same time. Protect and be gentle, but t
urn me inside out and caveman turned up. I’d been so up-tight, so set in my way of life for so long, that this was like a black-and-white photo turning to color.
I sat for a while, elbow on the kitchen counter, with my fork-holding hand cradling my forehead. Wing it. I didn’t know where this would lead me, but if ever there was a time in my life that I needed to just go with the flow, it was now.
I speared the shrimp, smoothly slipping the metal into the succulence, and held it up for examination.
I could do anything to this shrimp, but it was dead. Simple and easy to cut it up, to turn it over… Jodie had given me permission for all this. Really, I could get her to let me make love to her, to let me tie her up. In any BDSM scene, permission was required. But, according to her idea of capture fantasy, surely I had to reach beyond that permission and the rules. My mouth twisted. Did I want to? And the I was the important part.
Head down, I stared at the fork. Beyond the rules it would be about me and not her, and this was why I’d been so pedantic about rules.
I shook my head then popped the shrimp into my mouth, enjoying the soft crunch of the flesh and the flavors flooding my tongue. It wasn’t as if I was going to become Hannibal Lector if I went farther.
The edge above the abyss was fuzzy. If I wasn’t careful, I might do things that pushed this too far, yet she couldn’t say were precisely wrong. Would the police see it that way? I was an accountant. I didn’t want to break the law.
At the chorus, Tarja’s voice powered out of the speakers and her singing reached inside me, captured me. Such a beautiful bringing together of voice, lyrics and music into a singular moment, and I closed my eyes in appreciation of the appeal to that one unique sense—hearing.
I swallowed the shrimp and the taste went away. It wasn’t the act of swallowing that made the meal spectacular, it was what came before.
I found a pen in my laptop case and some paper, placed it square on the coffee table and sat on the couch before it, pen poised. I wrote the first words.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 84