Raw Silk

by Lisabet Sarai

  Leather, rubber, velvet, silk; spike-heeled boots and jingling chains; soft voices as the synthesizer melodies swelled and faded: it was opening night at Justine’s.

  Kate wore latex: thigh-high leggings, elbow-length gloves, a tight bodice that pinched her nipples, a miniskirt that scarcely hid her bare sex. She was masked. Her red-gold hair curled luxuriously above her latex-covered forehead. Her lips were painted scarlet.

  They had worked hard over the last six months, and she was proud of the result. The club had a high-tech ambience: recessed lighting, black velour couches and shiny, stainless steel pipes crisscrossing the space. There were many levels, sunken wells strewn with cushions, platforms, stages and stairways. In some places, the shiny bars gathered into structures reminiscent of a cage, but one could never be sure that was the intent.

  The room was spacious, almost cavernous. Here and there, though, it was divided by curtains of translucent black silk, lending an air of privacy, intimacy.

  On raised pillars around the room, three-dimensional scenes and images flickered and faded, mysterious, erotic, obscene. Here a stern governess in Victorian garb was lashing at a young woman’s bare bottom with birch switch. There, two men hooded in black knelt in chains before their mistress, servicing her with their eager mouths. Across the room, Kate saw the naked form of a woman, struggling in the coils of a gigantic snake. Her mouth was open in ecstasy as the serpent penetrated her, front and rear, with his tail and tongue.

  The images seemed solid and real, but if you looked at them steadily, they would shift, mutate, transform themselves like dreams. Kate was amazed at her own creations. Her work had come a long way, a long way indeed under Gregory’s tutelage.

  Scattered around the fringes of the room, private booths provided virtual reality experiences, or, for the bolder ones, the opportunity for trysts in the flesh. One could don gloves and headset and feel the whip in one’s hand, watch your victim’s skin redden, hear his or her cries for mercy. A full cybersuit allowed you to feel the lash yourself, to hear the jibes or praises in your master’s or mistress’ voice.

  Kate stood by the curtained doorway, welcoming newcomers. Outside, a discrete sign, silver on black, was the only indication of the club’s existence. Entrance to tonight’s festivities was by invitation only, or through the virtue of being the friend of a friend. Later, they would advertise, but only in select locations. Based on this evening’s turnout, Kate felt assured that the club would be popular.

  Her costume was hot. Sweat trickled between her breasts. The salt stung her buttocks. Last night, Gregory had caned her for the first time. She had wondered why it had taken him so long to get to that point, when he had threatened it so many times and she had almost begged for the experience. Now she knew. The pain had been beyond anything she had known, excruciating, unbearable, white-hot, luminous. Afterwards, Gregory had cradled her in his arms and whispered endearments, licked the tears from her eyelids. She smiled to herself, savouring the knowledge that she pleased him as no other did. She was learning more about him every day, the tenderness and the insecurity that he masked with his dominant persona, his loyalty and the honesty, his unfailing respect even as he abused and degraded her.

  She sighed to herself. It was hard to understand. But still, she felt that she had made the right decision.

  Gregory’s ring was heavy on her middle finger. It was iron, lined with gold. Not a wedding ring, at least not yet. She had asked for six months to consider his proposal. The time was nearly up, and she was fairly sure of what her answer would be.

  A familiar figure entered through the curtained doorway, lithe and graceful as a dancer. “Somtow!” Kate exclaimed, rushing to welcome him. “I never expected to see you here.”

  “Gregory sent me an invitation,” he said with his old mischievous grin. “I couldn’t resist the temptation. I had to find out more about the dark side of my Managing Director.”

  Somtow bent and kissed her lightly. She looked around, nervous. Gregory did tend to be jealous. Had he invited Somtow to test her?

  But Somtow was merely teasing her. Since the contest, he had respected her choice. He had never tried to seduce her again, though they saw each other frequently in the course of DigiThai’s day-to-day operations. Did she regret this, she asked herself, looking at Somtow with a critical eye? He was as handsome and elegant as ever. Her heart still beat faster when she remembered some of their outrageous encounters. But she had realised months ago that her most exciting moments with Somtow had been those that echoed the power dynamics of her relationship with Gregory.

  As for David, Kate sensed that he had expected her choice. Furthermore, he had found consolation in Somtow, who was only too happy to sooth his frustrations. After his two weeks in Bangkok, much of which, she suspected, was spent in Somtow’s company, he had returned to Boston. They still wrote and talked frequently. He had a boyfriend now, a stockbroker named Jason. “You warned me about Bangkok,” he had remarked during their last phone conversation. “but I never expected to discover that I was bisexual. I guess I have you to thank, for opening up this new dimension in my life.” They had both laughed, but then he said seriously, “I expect that it may be quite a while, though, before I find another girlfriend. Gregory is very, very lucky.”

  Speaking of her Master, she caught a glimpse of him across the room, watching her with her former lover. He wore a leather hood that hid his eyes, but she could see that he was smiling. He beckoned to her.

  “Excuse me, Somtow. Duty calls.”

  “Have a good time, Katherine,” he said softly. “And I will try to do the same.”

  In a moment she stood before Gregory. He towered over her. He was bare-chested save for a wide strap of leather that stretched over his left shoulder and fastened to his belt. Below, he wore tight black leather pants, and boots with pointed toes. Her eyes strayed, as they often did, to the flames that decorated his flesh. They always seemed to change. She had traced the lines a hundred times with her fingers and her tongue, but each time she found new patterns. Her heart beat hard as it always did when she stood this way in the heat of his gaze. Even after all these months, she thought, in wonder, all these hours and days together.

  “What do you think, Kate?” he asked with a mocking smile. “What do you think of Justine’s?”

  “A dream fulfilled,” she answered sincerely. “A small miracle.”

  “Not exactly the word I would have chosen, miracle.” He laughed. “There’s not much that’s holy here. But a dream, yes, the first of many dreams that we will chase together.”

  Kate was silent. She wanted to believe that this was true.

  “How are your stripes?” he asked suddenly.

  “Sore,” she said simply.

  “Let me see.”

  Though they were essentially in public, Kate did not hesitate. She turned her back to him and hiked up the skirt, baring her buttocks to him and her sex to anyone in the club who cared to look. No one seemed to notice. The guests were all intent on their own games.

  He knelt down behind her, and ran his tongue along one of the welts. His hot saliva stung, yet it soothed at the same time. “Inflamed,” he said, licking another one. “Lovely. The bright shameful badges of your love for me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Exactly.”

  He stood up and crossed his arms over her chest, holding her against him and nuzzling her neck. The leather of his pants scraped against her raw skin. “I had thought to put you on the block tonight, at the auction.” Her heart skipped a beat. One of the evening’s planned attractions, Kate knew, was a slave auction where guests might volunteer to sell themselves to the highest bidder. “But now, I think I want to keep you to myself. I just want to show everyone how much I love you, and how you love me.”

  Kate wondered nervously what he had in mind, then pushed her fear away. She didn’t care. She trusted him, would do whatever it took to show him that.

  “Come with me, little Kate.” He led her by the hand,
up a short set of stairs to one of the elevated platforms. Her skirt was still rolled up; she knew better than to pull it down. Their movement attracted the attention of some of the guests. They watched curiously.

  A network of bars decorated the top of the platform. There was a horizontal one a little below waist height, flanked by two verticals.

  “Bend over,” Gregory said. She understood. He wanted to display her wounded ass to the assembled company. She knew by their demeanour and their attire that many would recognise the marks of the cane.

  She rested her hips against the bar and bent over, spreading her thighs as she knew he wanted. “Good,” said her Master. “Very good. Now hold the vertical poles.” She complied. He began to tie her wrists to the poles with silky nylon rope. “Just in case you change your mind,” he jested.

  “You know that I won’t, Gregory.”

  “Well, I like seeing you bound, anyway. As you know. And so do our clientele.”

  Kate could see, a little, through her legs. Sure enough, most of the customers were standing, watching the tableau on the platform.

  Gregory stroked her buttocks, so proudly displayed, while every eye in the room followed his movements. He traced one of the welts with his fingers, then pinched it so that she cried out. The audience was silent, holding its breath in excitement.

  “Hush, my sweet one. Hush.” He took a butt plug from his pocket, and twisted it into her. She could imagine how it looked, bulging out between her cane-striped cheeks. Then from his other pocket he retrieved a silvery clamp. Kate gasped as he caught her clit in its jaws.

  “There, my love. That’s perfect.” He came around in front of her and kissed her tear-stained face.

  “Now wait here, for me, wait while our customers admire your beauty and your obedience.”

  Kate breathed deeply. She felt the throbbing in her clit changing from pain to desire. She felt the plug stretched her hind hole, and she wanted more. She imagined herself given over to the crowd. He would do that someday, she knew.

  She looked into the fierce, proud eyes of her Master, her lover, and smiled through her tears.

  “I will, my love. I will.

  About the Author

  I became addicted to words at an early age. I began reading when I was four. I wrote my first story at five years old and my first poem at seven. Since then, I’ve written plays, tutorials, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and of course, erotica. I’m the author of four erotic novels and two short story collections. I also edited the ground breaking anthology SACRED EXCHANGE, which explores the spiritual aspects of BDSM relationships, and the massive collection CREAM: THE BEST OF THE EROTIC READERS AND WRITERS ASSOCIATION. My short stories have appeared in more than two dozen print collections edited by erotica luminaries such as M. Christian, Maxim Jakubowski, Mitzi Szereto, Rachel Kramer Bussel, and Alison Tyler. In my so-called spare time, I also review books and films for the Erotica Readers and Writers Association (www.erotica-readers.com) and Erotica Revealed (www.eroticarevealed.com), and feature as a Celebrity Author at Custom Erotica Source (www.customeroticasource.com).

  My lifelong interests in sex and the written word became serenditipitously entwined nine years ago when I read my first Black Lace book by Portia da Costa. Her work inspired me to take my fantasies out of the closet (and the private email files) and expose them to the world. The rest, as they say, is history (although granted, no more than a minor footnote!)

  I’ve always loved traveling; my husband seduced me in a Burmese restaurant by telling me tales of his foreign adventures. Since then I have visited every continent except Australia, although I still have a long travel wish list. Currently I live with him and our two exceptional felines in Southeast Asia, where I pursue an alternative career that is completely unrelated to my creative writing.

  Email: lisabet@lisabetsarai.com

  Lisabet loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.totalebound.com.

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