Light Switch

by Lauren Gallagher

  Matt held her hair in one hand and her shoulder in the other, and he fucked her, grimacing with exertion as he slammed his cock into her pussy. I fingered my clit even faster. Blood pounded in my ears and I could only catch sharp, shallow gasps of breath.

  He threw his head back, and I imagined the throaty groan, the helpless sound of surrender as he got closer. His face flushed, his arms tensed, his lips tightened.

  Then he looked at me.

  Looked right at me.

  He couldn’t possibly have seen me, but the second our eyes met through the shadows, he screwed his shut, took one last thrust, and came.

  In the next instant, so did I.

  Chapter 11

  When I met Matt down by the bike racks the next morning, it was my turn to have trouble making eye contact or conversation.

  “Morning,” he said with a sleepy smile.

  “Morning.” I avoided his eyes as I started stretching.

  Since he was out here and ready for a run, I assumed the brunette was gone, though I had no idea if she’d slept over or left in the wee hours of the night. Matt certainly didn’t look like he’d slept recently. The dark circles under his eyes made me envy that woman; what I wouldn’t have given for the chance to keep him up all night. Especially now that I’d seen what he was capable of.

  I shivered, but tried to mask it by focusing extra hard on my stretches.

  “Up for some hills?” I asked to make conversation.

  He groaned as he stood up from a stretch, rolling his shoulders gingerly. “I think I’m game for an easy run today.”

  It was all I could do not to laugh. “Getting too old for anything strenuous, are we?”

  “Oh, shut up.” He chuckled. He twisted a crick out of his back with a crunch-crunch-crunch that made me cringe.

  “Well, you’re the one who’s creaking and crackling,” I said. “Could just be old age catching up with you.”

  “Uh-huh.” He glared at me. “If that’s the case, Father Time will be after you in pretty short order too.”

  “I’ll just outrun him like I outrun you.”

  “Bitch.” He rolled his eyes and laughed.

  “Come on, let’s go.” I nodded toward the road. “Then we can get back in time for you to watch Matlock.”

  “Hey, now!”

  “What?” I showed my palms and shrugged. “Come on, old man.”

  He tried to scowl, but his grin wouldn’t be denied. “You know, just for that, I think I do want to do some hills today.”

  “Sure you can handle it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We headed out, starting with our usual slow, easy pace. In spite of his obvious fatigue, he had no trouble with the first few hills. The fourth was always brutal, though, and by the time we reached the top, he’d lost some speed. He swore under his breath and winced once or twice even as the path leveled out.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered. “Man, I should know better than to stay up late the night before a run.” He wiped his forehead.

  “You mean you actually got out of the house last night?”

  He eyed me, a grin threatening to spread across his lips. Yep, he knew. Running his hands through his sweaty hair, he said, “Yes, I finally got my pathetic carcass out of the house.”

  “And? How did it go?”

  “Well, she showed me her tattoos.”

  When I glanced at him, he met my eyes with a knowing look.

  “Tattoos?” I said. “How many does she have?”

  “Three.”

  I remembered seeing one. Possibly two. I wondered where she’d hidden the third. “A wild woman, is she?”

  He chuckled. “Oh, you could say that.”

  Lucky whore. “So, are you going to see her again?”

  He shook his head. “Doubt it.”

  “Really?”

  “Nice gal, smoking hot, but…” He trailed off.

  “But?”

  “A little too recently divorced, and believe me, it shows.”

  “Baggage?”

  “Big time.” He shrugged. “I’m okay with some baggage. Everyone has it. But it needs to fit in the overhead compartment, you know?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, believe me, I know.”

  “So I’m—” He muttered something under his breath. “Fuck, another hill.”

  “Yeah, they just put that one in the other day.”

  “Uh-huh.” He shot me a playful glare. “Up for a race to the top?”

  “I’m not the one who was whining and aching at the top of the other one. You tell me.”

  “See you at the top.” With that, he took off.

  “Cheater!” I called after him.

  He just barely beat me to the top. “Now who’s getting too old for this?”

  “Fuck you,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “At least I’m not limping after a little hill.”

  “I’m not limping.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m— fuck.” He abruptly slowed to a walk, trying and failing not to favor his left leg.

  I slowed to match his halting pace. “You okay?”

  He nodded, but grimaced. “I’m fine, but do you mind walking back?”

  “Not at all.” Alarm and amusement mingled in my chest. The only other time I’d seen him give in and slow down on a run was after he’d recovered from a badly sprained knee. The very knee he favored now. He’d sprinted up hills just days after a car accident, run a 5K in spite of a back injury, and jogged in the dead of winter with a chest cold. A wimp he was not.

  I suppressed a grin. Christ, what did that woman do to you?

  “So, as I was saying before,” he said. “The chick last night. She’s a nice girl, and we had a good time.” His eyes darted toward me. Quickly looking away, he cleared his throat. “I just don’t see it going any further than that.”

  “Well, at least it got you out of the house.” And right back into the house.

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “I guess it did.”

  We continued with our jog—now walk—bantering about this and that, but we didn’t revisit what he’d done and I’d seen last night. It was there, though, hanging between us.

  The conversation eventually dwindled to nothing. This late in a run, I could usually attribute our lack of discussion to being out of breath, but not today. Not only had we given up and decided to walk, but last night had changed things. I couldn’t shake the feeling we’d taken our bizarre little relationship to another level, having switched the roles of voyeur and exhibitionist. As if he’d deliberately fucked her where I could see them to silently tell me, “This is what I see. This is why I watch you.”

  Loud and clear, Matt. Loud and clear.

  Half a block from our buildings, he broke the silence. “Did you hear they finally opened a club in the building where McCabe’s used to be?”

  “Yeah, Club Nine, isn’t it?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  “I hear it’s supposed to be pretty nice.” I’d been through the building’s doors when it was in its previous incarnations—a seventies and eighties themed dance club, a seedy place that was a pole or two short of a strip club, a country bar complete with a mechanical bull—but I hadn’t been there since Club Nine opened. Rumor had it Club Nine was velvet rope posh with bartenders and deejays who actually knew what the hell they were doing.

  Matt was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to go check it out, would you?” He gulped. “With me, maybe?”

  I inclined my head slightly. “Matt Sommers, are you asking me out?”

  He bit his lip and avoided my eyes for a second. Then he met them, this time with almost enough boldness to mask his nerves. “Yes. Yes, I am.” His shyness quickly came to the surface, though. He muffled a cough. “I mean, if you’re—”

  “I’d love to.”

  He blinked. “You would?”

  I smiled. “Hell, yeah.” />
  Relief replaced shyness. “Great. Maybe, Friday? Um, eight or so?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 12

  That afternoon, I went to Scott’s rather than having him at my apartment. He had something up his sleeve, that much was obvious, but he also wanted to show me what he called his “dungeon”.

  “So you really have a dungeon in your house?” I asked when I arrived.

  “With all the trimmings.” He flashed me a grin that was half boyish, half maniacal.

  ”Now this I can’t wait to see.”

  He gestured for me to follow him down the hall. “It took a long time to get it just the way I wanted it, but—” He paused, stopping in his tracks in the living room. “Malia, get down.” He snapped his fingers at the sleek black cat who had parked herself on the coffee table. “Get. Down.” The cat just stared at him, flipping her tail and narrowing her eyes with something that could only be smugness.

  Scott sighed and picked her up. “I said, get down.” He set her on the floor, nudging her away from the table with his foot. Malia eyed him, then trotted to the three-level kitty condo in the corner. She bounded to the top and glared at us from her perch.

  I laughed. “Defiant little creature, isn’t she?”

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “She’s the perfect cat for a Dom, really. Keeps me from getting too full of my damned self.”

  I snickered. “Too late for that.”

  “Hey, fuck you.”

  “Please do.”

  “Anyway.” He eyed me. “The dungeon. Let me grab a glass of wine, and I’ll show you. Do you want anything to drink?”

  “No, thanks.” I followed him toward the kitchen. “So what exactly is a dungeon?”

  “A slightly less disturbing term for a torture chamber,” he threw over his shoulder.

  I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the kitchen doorway. “You know, if you were anyone else, I’d think you were kidding.”

  “I am.” He paused as he reached for a bottle of red wine. “Well, sort of.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay, come on, what’s this dungeon all about?”

  He chuckled. “It’s just a term for a room that’s set up for BDSM activities. Usually has floggers, various things to tie people with.” He poured his wine, then shrugged when he set the bottle down. “And depending on whose dungeon it is, it’s usually decorated to have that dungeon ambiance.”

  I laughed. “Dungeon ambiance? I’m not sure I’ve ever heard those two words together.”

  He swirled his wine, but didn’t drink it. “Well, a place wouldn’t exactly feel like a dungeon if it was painted in pastels with Disney characters all over the place, would it?” He paused, frowning and stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Though you know, that could work. You could really fuck with someone—”

  “Scott, you are one twisted soul, you know that?”

  “Why thank you.” Raising his glass in a mock toast, he winked. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just show me the dungeon.”

  “Oh, fine.” He sighed dramatically. “To the dungeon.” With that, he led me out of the kitchen.

  I’d been to his house countless times, and I’d just assumed the last door on the left, which was always closed, led to a spare bedroom. Maybe a storage room, a guest room, something like that.

  I was wrong.

  The walls were painted black and the hardwood floors creaked beneath our feet. Along one wall was a rack of floggers, whips, canes, and a few things I didn’t recognize. Beside that was a large “X” made out of two thick, sturdy beams and supported by a couple of metal braces. Sunken lights in the ceiling cast a dim glow over everything, and there were several wrought iron candelabras around the room.

  Dungeon ambiance indeed.

  Something brushed past my legs. I looked down just in time to see Malia dart across the room and attack the bottom of the “X”.

  “Fucking cat,” Scott muttered. He picked her up, popping her claws out of the wood before tucking her under his arm. “This is a no kitty zone, you little shit.” He set her down in the hallway and shut the door. A second later, a black paw with claws extended reached under the door, sweeping around as if in search of one of our legs.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t put a kitty condo for her in here,” I said.

  He glared at me. “This is my room, not hers.”

  I glanced at the paw under the door. “Does she know that?”

  “Yes, she just likes to conveniently forget.” He nudged her paw with his foot, narrowly avoiding the resulting swipe with her claws.

  I laughed. “Spoiled little thing.”

  “She is not spoiled.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He shot me another glare. “Anyway.” He gestured at the rack of floggers with his wine glass. “This is where I keep my toys.”

  “Christ, how many do you have?”

  “A lot. Different subs like different types. And, what can I say? I just like having a lot of toys.”

  “So I see.”

  He led me to the wooden “X”. “This is why I brought you over here today, since I can’t exactly move it.” He tapped one of the beams with his knuckle. “It’s called a Saint Andrew’s Cross.” It was a strange device, but it didn’t take a genius to at least get the gist of its purpose. Not when leather cuffs hung from each corner by sturdy-looking metal attachments.

  I looked it up and down. “That thing is… interesting.”

  “Mine’s a little different from what you’ll see at a lot of the local clubs and dungeons.”

  “How so?”

  “I rigged it so every binding can be operated on its own”—he gestured at the cuffs on each corner—“just like any other. The difference…” He reached behind it. Something clicked, and all four cuffs fell, hitting the floor with thuds and clinks. He grinned like a kid showing off a science fair project. “Emergency quick-release.”

  I laughed. “I guess that answers my next question.”

  “Which was?”

  “Did you build it or buy it?”

  With an indignant sniff, he said, “I’ll have you know I designed this fucker from the ground up. Well, okay, it wasn’t exactly a new design, but the quick-release? At least this version? Mine.”

  “Impressive.”

  He shrugged. “Just a combination of being incredibly paranoid about safety and being a techno-geek.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to just have quick-releases on the cuffs themselves?”

  “Come on, now. That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun for an engineer.” He picked up one of the cuffs. “Actually, this set does have Velcro straps for that very purpose. But if I get to playing with things like ropes, chains, crap like that? I need to have a way to get her down quick if things go south.” He tapped the cuff against the cross’s frame. “Might be a bit of overkill, but the handful of times I’ve had to use it, no one complained.”

  “When have you had to use it?”

  “Kasey had a panic attack once. Took a long time before she was willing to try it again, but she loves it now.” He absently watched his fingers trace the edge of one beam. “A couple of subs ended up using their safe words with other Doms, though I don’t know exactly what happened those times. And Tara almost passed out once.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Turned out she hadn’t eaten for a few hours and her blood sugar was crashing,” he said. “She didn’t tell me she was feeling dizzy already. Fortunately, I caught on and got her down before she completely passed out. That wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

  “You don’t say.” I swallowed. If there was anything relating to kink that made me nervous, it was the bondage aspect. Pain, I handled better than I’d ever expected. Submission, I loved. But I was somewhat claustrophobic, and I wondered how well that would translate into being bound, especially if I was completely unable to move.

&n
bsp; “So, want to try it?”

  My heart sped up. Forcing back my nerves, I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll try it.”

  Scott raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

  “I can’t promise I’ll like it, but I’ll try it.”

  “Fair enough.” He shrugged. “And we’ll start with just your hands, today. Some people get a little nervous having both hands and feet bound, so I prefer to do one scene with just hands before we go any further.”

  Faster still, my heart pounded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “And if at any time, you want me to let you go, you know what to do.”

  “Safe word.”

  “Exactly.” He swirled his wine and raised it almost to his lips. “So, you ready?”

  I took a breath. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  When he took the first sip, excitement joined nervousness and sizzled through my veins. My mouth watered as he set the glass down. He rolled first one sleeve, then the other, all the while sending my pulse up, up, up. He picked up his glass again and watched me with narrowed eyes as he took the second sip.

  The glass clinked on the table. Goose bumps prickled up my spine. This methodic transformation never ceased to amaze me. Just a few simple movements, and my friend was my Master once again.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Strip.”

  Blood pounded in my ears as I took off my shirt. I was accustomed to being naked in front of him now. The sense of exposure and vulnerability was still there, but had mostly faded into the background.

  What unnerved me now was taking off my clothes in front of that large, wooden inanimate object to which I’d soon be bound. Every inch of newly exposed skin was a nod of surrender, an acknowledgment that I would soon be at my Master’s mercy on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.

  Bound. Tied. Immobile.

  My panties landed on the pile of haphazardly folded clothes beneath the rack of floggers.

  Here we go.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  As I’ll ever be. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Stand with your back to the cross.”

  The crossed beams were smooth and cool against my skin, but it was the warmth of Scott’s hand encircling my wrist that made me shiver. He brought my arm up and closed the leather cuff around my wrist. The cuff was more comfortable than I expected. The leather was hard, but it was lined with a softer material, and the rounded edges didn’t bite into my flesh.