Ruined

by EM BROWN

  “You may change your mind about that,” he replies.

  “I’ll let you know if I do.”

  With that, he takes the stairs down. We enter a stark room with walls that appear to be the original concrete of the building. I gasp and nearly drop my textbook. In the middle of the room a completely naked woman lies shackled to the ground with her arms and legs each stretched to four different corners. Her mascara and eye liner are smeared because she’s been crying. Dark pink lines mark her body. Above her stands a man wearing dark gloves and a hood. He holds a thin wooden cane, which he brings down across her thighs. She shrieks.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she murmurs between sniffles.

  Changing the angle of the cane, he smacks it on the same thigh. The streaks of pink on her leg form an ‘X.’ He does the same to her other thigh, each strike eliciting a cry of pain from the woman.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she says again.

  He squats down beside her head and rubs away a large tear that clings to the corner of an eye. She looks at him, her eyes shining with gratitude.

  And reverence.

  I look at the welts on her legs. Those aren’t going away in a few hours.

  “You’re doing good, slut,” the man tells her. “You’ve earned a reward.”

  He stands up, puts the cane on a nearby table and returns with a cordless massage wand. The woman moans when he places it between her legs. Her eyes roll toward the back of her head.

  “May I come, Sir?” she asks after a few minutes.

  “Come, slut.”

  Her body starts to shudder, her limbs yanking at the shackles. The man pulls the wand away, and she sighs, a large grin plastered across her face.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Because I was mesmerized with the scene, I don’t know how long Tony has been staring at me. I can’t make out his expression.

  “Are they okay that we—that we were watching?” I whisper to him.

  “Too late not to be,” he replies.

  I blush. I’ve never ever witnessed anything like this. Once, I accidentally walked in on Alexia making out with her boyfriend on the sofa in the living room. They were too involved to notice me, but I had quickly turned around and headed back to my bedroom anyway.

  But here, I wasn’t sure where to go except back up the stairs.

  “Want to go home now?” Tony asks.

  I pause and notice my pulse has quickened considerably. I meet his gaze.

  “No.”

  Taking me by the elbow again, he walks me past “Sir” and the woman on the ground. Tony pushes aside a black velvet curtain and we enter what I presume is “Cell Three.”

  There are no windows in this room, no paneling or paint to cover the concrete walls. A single overhead lamp lights the center of the room and leaves the rest in darkness. I start to doubt my marbles when I see a cage in one corner of the room, a human sized cross, a wooden pillory, and a case on the far side displaying a variety of canes like the one used by “Sir,” floggers, paddles, and other striking implements. Beside the case is a tall lingerie chest. I’m not sure I want to know what’s inside it. At least this room has a mattress, which has got to be more comfortable than being shackled to the cold hard floor. I hug my textbook tighter.

  Tony studies my reaction to everything in the room. “I can take you home anytime.”

  I stare at a ring dangling from the ceiling. Curiosity wins the moment and I respond, “I don’t want to go home.”

  Yet.

  Tony takes off his jacket and hangs it on a hook on the wall. “I have simple rules: you ask permission when you want something, and you obey. Displease me, and I punish you. Simple.”

  Sure. Simple.

  God Almighty.

  He walks over to a table with a pitcher of water with slices of lemon and strawberry in it. He pours two glasses. “What are your soft limits? And your hard limits?”

  I take the glass of water he hands me. I have no idea what my limits are. I just had sex for the first time.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” he murmurs. “What would you like your safety word to be?”

  Not knowing what would make a good safety word, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Tar Heel.”

  He raises a brow.

  “It’s North Carolina’s nickname: the Tar Heel State. Also the name of the athletic teams for UNC.”

  “What is a Tar Heel?”

  “There are different legends. One says that troops from North Carolina during the Civil War stuck to their ranks like they had tar on their heels.”

  “Might turn out to be an appropriate safety word. Drink the water.”

  I take a few sips and turn to set it aside.

  “Finish it,” he orders.

  “I’m not that thirsty—”

  He frowns. “What did I say my rules are?”

  I comb my memory. I’m usually not this forgetful, but my nerves are on overdrive.

  “Ask permission,” I remember. “And obey.”

  He waits as I finish my water. When I’m done, he takes the glass and my textbook. Without the latter, I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I stuff them into my jean pockets.

  Turning to face me, Tony leans against the table and crosses his arms. “Strip. Slowly.”

  My mouth turns dry. I liked it better when he undressed me. Standing here on my own, I feel like I’m on display.

  “Now, Virginia.”

  I like the sound of my name with his accent. I remind myself that I wanted this.

  Complying, I start to unbutton my sweater. I’m sure his gaze misses nothing. I peel off the sweater and hesitate at my plain V-neck tee. Okay, I was completely naked before him just a few hours before. I shouldn’t be this uneasy.

  But we’re in a strange place, and there’s a curtain instead of a real door guarding our privacy. Anyone can walk in on us at any minute. And it’s one thing to be undressed by him while I’m half distracted by his caresses. Standing in the middle of the room while he watches has a totally different feel to it. I’m the center of attention. There’s no other distraction. And I’m way too cognizant of his stare.

  “The shirt,” he prompts.

  After taking a fortifying breath, I whip it off. Okay, this isn’t too bad. And as much as his stare unnerves me, it also excites me.

  “Jeans next,” he directs.

  I slip off my shoes, undo the button of my jeans and slowly pull down the zipper. At least I have on my nicest underwear and bra. They’re burgundy colored with a little bit of ivory lace. I slide the jeans down my legs. I take off my socks just because it gives me something to do, something other than notice how his gaze traverses every inch of me.

  “Turn around,” he tells me, circling his finger.

  Standing in just my bra and underwear, I feel the cool air on my skin while my body burns beneath his stare. My cheeks grow hot as I do a 360.

  “Slower.”

  I turn around again. I’ve never been on display like this before. Growing up, I preferred being in the chorus over solos. I didn’t take drama or dance or anything that involved performing in front of others. I did well enough in PE, but I didn’t participate in extracurricular sports. And I have certainly never undressed in front of a man and allowed him to gawk at me.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The vibe here is definitely different than what I was getting back at the Drescott.

  Judging by the rise and fall of his chest, his breath is a little uneven. I'm having an effect on him.

  "Play with yourself."

  His words introduce a new level of awkwardness. As if I wasn't self-conscious enough already, now I've got to put on a show for him? Where do I begin? What should I do?

  I rub an arm. I rub the other arm, moving my hand from my wrist toward my shoulder. It's probably as sexy as watching your grandmother knit. I'm guessing he thinks so, too, because he starts to direct me.

  "Caress your n
eck."

  I put my hand to the back of my neck and give myself a little massage, trying to relax myself. I hear a scream in the background. It's probably the woman who’s shackled to the floor. I wonder if there are other couples around.

  "Now your shoulders."

  I wrap myself in an embrace, keeping my eyes averted from him.

  "Caress your tits."

  I drop my hands to cup my breasts.

  "Pull the cups down."

  I do as told. I reveal my breasts and notice my nipples have hardened. He shifts against the table.

  "Feel yourself up."

  I think about the woman shackled to the floor and how at ease she seemed spread-eagled and naked in front of her partner. Maybe they've been together a while. Or maybe she's like Sierra, confident in her body.

  "Show me how much you love touching yourself."

  I massage my breasts.

  "Do it like you mean it."

  I grope myself more deeply.

  "Pinch your nipples."

  I follow his instructions.

  "Harder."

  I pinch them harder. I wonder if I could handle the caning that woman received. Probably not, but a small part of me is curious to try.

  "Did you like how that felt?"

  Not particularly, but I don't think that's the answer he's looking for, so I say, "Yes, Sir."

  The words fall naturally from my lips, surprising both of us. A small smile hovers over his mouth.

  "Good. Pinch them even harder then."

  I make myself gasp when I do as he bids.

  "Mess up your hair."

  I shake my hand through my hair.

  "Suck on a finger."

  I stick a forefinger into my mouth

  "Put another finger in."

  I'm his personal, live porn show. And it's kind of...titillating. I insert my middle finger.

  "Suck them well."

  I suck my digits and start to get a little creative, rolling my fingers around my mouth, pulling them in and out as if I'm going down on his cock. I think I hear him groan.

  "Rub your fingers on your nipple."

  In doing so, I transfer my spit to the nipple, which stretches as hard as it can.

  "Now put your hand in your panties and get yourself nice and wet."

  God Almighty. As my hand slips into my underwear, I feel so naughty. I worry that I'm too embarrassed to get wet, but there's already moisture there. Maybe it's from before. I circle a finger on my clit.

  "Make it feel good for yourself."

  I close my eyes and try to block out the fact that I'm in a BDSM club, that he's staring at my every move, that I'm feeling myself up in front of a man I barely know. Instead, I focus on the friction of my finger against my clit. Pleasure begins to build as I stroke myself. Maybe I can do this after all.

  "Is this how you pleasure yourself when no one is looking?"

  "Yes. Sir."

  "Do you ever finger-fuck yourself?"

  I shake my head.

  "Do you use a vibrator?"

  "I don't have one."

  "Why not?"

  "Never got around to buying one."

  "How often do you masturbate?"

  "I'm not sure. I've never kept track."

  "Once a day?"

  I shake my head and draw some of my moisture over my clit.

  "Once a week?"

  "Depends on the week. Sometimes it's a couple times, sometimes none. It mostly depends on how busy I am."

  He watches me fondle myself for several minutes before asking, "Have you ever used a vibrator on yourself?"

  "No, Sir."

  He gets off the table and walks over to the chest of drawers. After opening a few, he finds what he’s looking for: a small black vibrator not unlike the one my roommate sometimes leaves lying around her bed. Walking over, he hands it to me.

  "Use it. Make yourself come for me."

  My first time with a sex toy and it's going to be in front of him instead of the privacy of my bedroom. I swallow and turn the vibrator on. My fingers tingle. It's rather strong for something barely larger than three AA batteries. It has several bumps on one end and fits easily into my panties. I gasp loudly when it touches my clit. I feel like I'm getting tickled to death there. The sensations are surprisingly potent, stronger, more concentrated than my finger. It's too much. I move it off of me.

  "We can be here all night, but you will come for me, Virginia."

  I melt at the sound of my name. Bracing myself, I return the vibrator to my clit. I wriggle and squirm as if the vibrations have entered my body and are trying to find a way out. After several seconds, I can't take it anymore. How do women get used to these things? I'm about to offer to return to masturbating myself with my finger when he shoves his hand into my underwear. Grabbing my hand, he presses the vibrator to my clit. He wraps his other arm around my back, and there's no escape. I cry out as I writhe against him.

  Holy shit, holy shit.

  My clit feels like it's getting attacked, but somehow my body likes it, and instead of the gradual climb toward my orgasm, I am shot out of a cannon. The vibrations at my clit explode through my whole body. I scream so loud I bet everyone in the building can hear, but I have no control. I spasm against Tony.

  Right after I hit my climax, my clit can't take anymore. I strain and shake my head vigorously because I can't form the words to tell him to take the vibrator away. Dear God, please take the vibrator away.

  I nearly sob with relief when he finally does. Switching off the vibrator, he catches me before I crumble to the ground. Sweeping me into his arms, he carries me over to the mattress and lays me down. My clit still pulsing madly, I stare up at the ceiling. Holy crap. I need to get myself a vibrator.

  "Thank you, Sir," I say with genuine appreciation.

  "And that was the weakest one. Wait till we try something more powerful."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  As amazing as that just felt, I don't think I can take something more powerful.

  Setting the vibrator down on the mattress beside me, Tony heads back to the dresser and pulls out a coil of rope. Kneeling on the mattress, he flips me over roughly, in sharp contrast to the gentle way he carried and laid me down. He pulls me to my knees so my ass is in the air. It's a familiar position, only this mattress is not nearly as soft as the one at the Drescott. He yanks my arms toward my butt and ties my wrists behind my thighs. Pulling my panties down, he exposes my buttocks, which he tenderly caresses before giving one a good hard slap. I've never been spanked before. I can't decide if it's humiliating or a turn-on.

  It's both.

  "Do you remember your safety word?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What is it?"

  "Tar Heel."

  I hope to God I won't have to use it. He reaches between my thighs and caresses me until I'm moaning.

  "You got yourself nice and wet."

  I love the way he touches me. My body has a way of responding to his every stroke. Despite having had a killer orgasm, my arousal begins anew. As awesome as the vibrator is, I want to come on his hand. My body ties itself in a knot for him. Please make me come.

  But he stops his caresses. Maybe to undress himself. Instead, he stands up and makes a phone call on his cell. He's having a full on conversation in French while I'm bent over with my naked butt in the air, wetness trickling down my thighs, pulsing for his attention.

  Part way through his call, he leans down and rubs me between my legs and plays with my clit. A whimper escapes my lips but I try to keep quiet, hoping the person on the other line didn't hear anything. Though it's possible Tony has already relayed that he's feeling up some naked American girl right now. He finishes his call just in time to pick up an incoming call.

  "I'm still in the city," he says as he wanders over to the armoire display case. "I'll be back after dinner."

  I think it’s Eric he's talking to. I see Tony glance my way.

  "I may be a while."

  I'm n
ot sure if that's good or bad.

  "Tomorrow is fine, but I want to see if my cousin Ben can join us.”

  His next call is in Chinese, I assume, and I marvel at how easily he goes from one language to the next. After hanging up, Tony returns to me. Thank goodness. I’m done with being in this awkward hogtie. But he doesn’t untie me and instead caresses the contours of my rump, lightly slapping a cheek. I moan when his hand reaches beneath my derrière and strokes my wet folds. He fondles my clit, which has been starving for his touch. Okay, if he’s going to keep doing that, I’ll stay in this position. His touch feels so good. It doesn’t take my arousal long to go from a simmer to a boil.

  He has me hot and bothered, my body starting to strain toward release, before stopping. I watch as he walks back to the display case.

  “What would you like to try?” he asks, studying the implements inside the case.

  I have no idea. They all look intimidating.

  “What’s best for a beginner?” I ask.

  He rubs his thumb along his jaw. “That depends. Do you like stinging or thudding sensations?”

  Probably neither, but I reply, “I don’t know.”

  Opening the case, he pulls out a crop and tests it, smacking it into his palm and against his leg, then situates himself behind me. “We will try stinging first.”

  I tense. This is it. My first real experience with BDSM.

  “Relax,” he says as he caresses a buttock. “I’ll try to go easy.”

  Try?!

  I do have my safety word, but crap, I’m putting a lot of trust in this person. I scold my libido for putting me in this situation.

  He taps the end of the crop to my ass. The gentle smacks are almost like a massage, warming my flesh, and in between my legs, I'm a furnace of desire. He raps the crop all over my rump, and just as I start to relax, he whacks me a little harder. I yelp, but it's mostly in surprise. The sting fades quickly. He slaps my other buttock a little harder, but it's still quite tolerable. He glances at my face before returning his attention to my backside. The crop gently kisses my ass several more times before landing harder. This time I cry out at the sting, but the pain doesn't linger. So far the fear has been harder to take than the actual impact of the crop.