by Trisha Wolfe
As her sobs fill the air, my thrusts decimate her fragility.
Shoved in her mouth the clue goes. My hand clamps over her thin lips to force her mouth shut. There’s always sadness at the end. Not remorse; rather a farewell to a beloved toy.
Shiny metal slices into creamy, soft skin as I drag my blade across her neck. A wet gurgle escapes her mouth, eyes wide with horror. The acceptance of the inevitable.
Without obsession, we may be free. Peace could have a chance. But what would life be without obsession? Hollow vessels, bored and impotent.
Death. It is obsession’s ultimate price.
A small tribute to pay to our beast.
5
Unbind Me
Sadie
Disguise. It only works to conceal you for so long, and it’s impossible to keep hiding from yourself when you’ve been made. So why bother with the wig now, when one of the members of The Lair knows exactly who I am?
Because it’s more than for protection; a disguise is a defense, a shield. Much in the same way a cop feels his authority when he flashes his badge. It offers no more cover than his weapon, but the power behind the shield infuses him with courage.
And I wrap myself in courage, my camouflage, each night that I embark on this dark underworld. Or maybe that’s a lie…maybe I am hiding. I’m honest enough with myself to admit the possibility.
So why the red? Why give in to Colton’s whims and slip on this dress? I guess I’ll find out the answer to that as soon as I discover his elusive job. That’s why I’m here. To get the answers.
The bouncer nods to me and unclips a link from the rope, moving it aside so I can step into the unknown. The rope room. I’ve passed by it many times, but never entered. Only brave enough to go where I know I won’t be touched.
This room is darker than the voyeur. Dim purple and blue lighting streams down the walls, illuminating mounted brackets and hooks. Along one wall, different lengths of rope coil and stretch, enticing members to select their preference. All colors, materials, widths and sizes. It’s a playroom for erotic rope fetish.
Bondage.
My chest constricts, and I’m suddenly in a black, chilly basement. No windows. No way out. I’m turning and leaving before the smells can pull me under…but a man steps in front of my path.
“Miss B?” His deep voice is questioning, but he says this in a way that lets me know I’m exactly who he’s seeking. B, an initial, but not my full name. Colton was conscientious enough not to reveal my full identity, but he wasn’t going to allow me to use a pseudonym, either.
Once I nod my head to the tall man, he turns and leads me toward a partially enclosed corner table. Sheer black curtains run the length from ceiling to floor, and they’re held aside by thick bands of rope. Neutral in color, the ropes decorate everything, falling from the ceiling, running along the seams of the black cushions. They’re the focal point.
As soon as I’m seated, a drink—pink champagne—is set before me by the waitress.
Anger bubbles up in my chest, lava-hot. This was my reprieve. My secret. The place where I could disappear and allow the haunted demon inside me to roam. Taste a little freedom before I buried her again in the daylight.
Now that one shelter has been stripped away.
The loud industrial music fades out, and a low hum fills the silence, vibrating the air. As the slow, melodic tune builds, the crowded room parts, creating a ring. I wrap my fingers around the flute stem and grip. Anticipation mixes with anxiety as a beam of light blinks on, illuminating a single rope descending from above. Slowly, it lowers toward the center of the divided crowd. A single, silver ring dangles from its length.
Two figures emerge from the other side of the room. A robed woman. And Colton. He guides her toward the open area, his hand at the small of her back. I’m acutely aware of the jealously festering at that simple touch. Craving the feel of his skin against mine…but that’s all it is. A carnal desire. I know all too well that desire can’t withstand the fear.
As soon as contact is made, my body tenses and panic flares. Primal instinct switches on like the flip of a button.
So I sit and watch. Able to harness some sort of surrogate connection through voyeurism. I didn’t start out this way…I was made. Fashioned into an untouchable creature out of horror and pain.
My thoughts abruptly cut off when Colton’s stony blue gaze captures mine. Dressed in all black—from the V-neck shirt molding perfectly to his leanly muscled arms, to the black denim hugging his long legs—he stands behind the robed woman, his hands hovering over her shoulders, but his eyes touching mine.
As the beat increases, my heart rate ramps, and so do his movements. Purposely running his hands along her arms, he reaches the neck of the robe and begins to peel it away from her body, revealing her beautiful, naked figure.
And as he reaches above her head to grasp the silver ring, he loops a long length of rope through, then brings the rope before her to capture her around the chest. She remains silent and still as he repeats this act, twining the rope around her, above and below her breasts. The rope skillfully sliding through his hands to bind her.
My breath hitches in my throat. My eyes tear…but I don’t look away. His fingers expertly loop and tie until the woman is wearing a harness of rope. Her breasts peek between the tightly wound bands, her arms trapped behind her back.
All the while, as Colton is threading this elaborate binding, his eyes keep mine. As if he’s testing each knot against my reflexes. Reading me, studying me. I’m more than vulnerable; I’m exposed. With every twist of the rope, his proficient hands tear away a painstakingly constructed piece of my armor.
It’s like he knows my fears and wants to exploit them for all to witness. Shame suddenly fills me, and I go to stand, but Colton makes a similar move. He steps to the side, as if he’s going to pursue me if I bolt.
Fine. This is his production. Resigned, I sit back down. So he’s watched me, analyzed me. So he’s figured out my defect. That’s not a very difficult thing to do in my case. It doesn’t give him the right to lord it over me.
I take a sip of champagne and press my back into the cushion, forcing my muscles to relax. It’s difficult enough having to battle these confusing, erotic impulses while staring at crime scene photos…this was the one place I felt safe. Hidden. Where I could free those demons that I keep buried so far down. Now, Colton’s gone and shone a light on them, and he’s feeding off my pain.
But even as I’m thinking this, building a case against him, breaking him down and stripping him bare to reveal his malevolent intentions, a small voice inside my head starts to sing. A tiny clarity that whispers truth.
As he runs the rope over the model’s skin, causing her to quiver with need, this whisper grows into a chorus. His gaze penetrates me, his voice a light brush against my ear. I won’t touch you.
The promise rushes through me with a spike of adrenaline, and then I’m fixated on his movements, intently watching as he crosses more rope around the woman’s torso. Then drops to his knees, where he begins winding a long thread around one thigh, then the next. Standing, he pulls the ropes taut, and the woman is suspended in the air, her back arched, hair falling around her bowed head.
With fluid movements mimicking a dance, Colton runs his hand along the span of air just beneath her stomach, all the way to her foot—where he catches her ankle with a loop and brings it up toward her wrists. He ties the length of rope off to the silver ring, and she becomes a work of art.
An extension of his mind, of himself.
I realize the bond of trust created and tethered between them. I yearn for it. And as he tugs on the rope, molding and shaping her, she starts to spin. There is no audience, no sound. But I feel the collective awe rising above the room as the woman spirals into her own world of pleasure—her subspace.
Passion—laced as tightly as the rope binding the model—coils inside me. It’s an overwhelming rush of emotion that snaps each thread of rope—one by
one—until my insides burst free, and I feel a tear fall from my eye.
She’s so beautiful, in all her freedom, and somewhere deep within me longs desperately to feel that. And when my eyes meet Colton’s again, I can’t hide. He sees it.
He sees me.
6
Want
Colton
Slow applause fills the rope room as I untie the last knot binding Katrina’s wrists. She’s a wonderful, trusting model who I’ve performed with many times. Since Julian asked me to start showcasing Shibari sessions twice a week as one of the club’s main features, I’ve only worked with three models; but that’s all it is. Work.
Regardless of my love of bondage and ropework, I’m able to separate work from play quite easily. And separating play from need… Well, that’s why I’ve asked Sadie here.
I slip Katrina’s robe over her shoulders. She wraps her arms around her waist, and a slight tremble ripples over her body. She turns and meets my eyes, hers still lit with emotion, before she’s enveloped by the arms of her Dom.
He’s here to offer her the aftercare she needs after such an emotionally charged experience, and I’m gifted with their trust. I nod to him as he takes her toward a back room.
Then all my attention is aimed toward the private seating area in the corner. To the place where most of my devotion has been focused since I first stepped onto the floor. I find and lock on to Sadie’s jade gaze. Like being drawn by the force of a magnet, she’s my counter—powerful attraction; no way to stop the science of it.
As I move toward her, I twine a thin link of rope around my hand, subconsciously toying, a part of me. When I’m right before her, she holds my stare, evoking a strong bravado. But within seconds she wilts against the black cushions, using the small table between us as some kind of barrier.
“So you showed me,” she says, her voice airy, but I can see the emotion swimming in the depth of her green eyes. She was affected.
Slipping onto the bench seat, I push myself along the cushions until I’m as close to her as I assume she’ll allow. Her body reacts, tensing. “Just what you inquired about,” I say. “But that’s not what I truly wanted to show you.”
“I asked about your job, and I see now.” She swallows. “It’s intense, Colton. I understand why it would be difficult to explain outside of the club.” She takes a sip of champagne, then leaves her hand resting on the table near the stem.
Unlinking the rope, I lay it on the table and cautiously slide the tip close to her hand. “That’s one part, but it’s not the whole reason why you’re here. I will never ask, Sadie.” I look up to meet her hesitant gaze. “You don’t have to offer any explanation. I’ve been a part of the scene long enough that I recognize turmoil—true suffering—when I see it. And I just want to show you the way past it. To help you free yourself of the dungeon you’ve isolated—”
“Stop.” Her head lowers as she sucks in a sharp breath. “You know nothing of dungeons.” The lights dim further, the beat of seductive music filling the gulf between us.
She allows the darkness to hide her features as she sinks into the seat. With deft movements, I expertly work the length of rope closer to her hand…and graze the tip along her silky skin. She flinches, but doesn’t remove her hand from the table.
I continue to run the rope along the top of her hand, toward her forearm, over the sexy projection of her wrist. “I don’t have to speak, either,” I tell her, allowing the rope to be my hands. I can touch her in a way that won’t set off her inner alarm.
If she’ll let me.
I know something dark is haunting her. I saw it long before now; when she gazed at the stage in the voyeur room. The wanting, the yearning…but also the fear. It’s what first drew me to her. Some horror lurks deep within my goddess, and I need so badly to bring that to the surface. To show her she’s in control of it—that she’s its master.
But like the fiend that I am, I also want to gaze into that abyss. Watch it swallow her; the consumption. To look into the darkness and discover why…because understanding that will answer so many questions.
“Please,” she says, barely audible over the low music. “Colton. I know what you’re trying to do. And it’s not that I don’t—” She breaks off, seemingly searching for words. “You’re so aware, attuned. To me.” She looks up then, ensnaring me with her eyes. “If I lose what fragile grip I have, I’ll fall. I’ve worked so hard to just be where I am now.”
“And where is that?” I ask, needing her to drop her walls and let me in. If just a fraction. “What are you so frightened will happen if you let go. You clearly crave this, Sadie.” I loop the rope around her wrist, leaving a loose knot that she can easily slip out of, but pulling it tight enough that she feels the rough fibers graze her skin. “Are you scared of being judged? Scared that it will effect your work?”
Surprisingly, she laughs. That melodic sound washes over me, sending a shiver down my spine. She looks at her bound wrist, at the gooseflesh rising along her skin. “If only it was that simple.” Twisting her arm, she gives the rope a tug, testing the restraint. I watch as slight distress worries the smooth skin between her eyebrows—and it hits me, spiking my chest with sharp pain.
“Someone hurt you.” It rushes out, no filter. With her, I’m unable to hold back.
Her gaze snaps to mine. And the truth is there in the dilation of her pupils. The shimmer of her wide eyes.
“You’d make a good profiler,” she says, ripping the cord from her wrist. She balls the rope in her palm. “But maybe you should leave that to me, and get back to your job.”
I can’t help it; a quick smile tilts my lips. “I could do both, if that’s what I wanted. I don’t limit myself. But what’s interesting is how you stress my job—with such scorn.”
“Stop trying to analyze me,” she snaps.
“Easy,” I say, pulling on the end of the rope, slowly uncoiling it from her tight grasp. “I know you’re not really being judgmental. You feel trapped. You want to hate what I am, ultimately what you are…but you don’t. Not really. You’re just torn.” Unwinding the thread of rope, I begin to wrap it around my fingers, watching her gaze follow my movements. “Whoever hurt you, they must have hurt you bad. And now you’re confused. This”—I tighten the band of rope around my hand until my skin puckers from the restraint—“is all about give and take. And what happened to you, I’m assuming, wasn’t a choice. They took. And took.”
Her bottom lip trembles, and I’m desperate to capture it with my mouth. Feel her fear against me and breathe it in, taste her. But it’s too soon. She’s on the edge.
“Now you’re here, trying to unravel the mystery,” I continue. “Wanting to understand if it’s because of what happened to you that you crave the pain, or if it was there all along, but has now become warped. Misshapen.” Her breath stutters past her lips on a gasp. “If it’s distorted you.”
She pushes her wig out of her eyes, and God, do I want to strip her of that false identity. Reveal her beauty to her. “I’m a monster,” she says.
Her admission startles me for a second, but I refuse to let her believe this. “No,” I say, testing the space between us, moving an inch closer. Her eyes reach mine. “No, you’re a goddess.”
With her gaze steady on mine, her body still, waiting, anticipating, I lean in and carefully raise my index finger with the cord of rope wrapping it toward her. I brush my finger across her mouth, gently drag the rope over her lips.
I observe how she tries to control her breathing, forcefully restraining her trembling body to keep still. But she’s buzzing—her whole being humming so audibly it charges the air between us with a spark.
Roaming the rope along her jawline, I caress her the only way she’ll permit, and revel in the trance descending over us as she closes her eyes, trusting me.
“You just need to experience this on your own terms,” I whisper, guiding the rope lower, to her neck. “With someone who’s going to offer as much as they ask for in return.
I’ll go slow. I’ll test, and I’ll gauge, and I’ll never push you past your comfort zone. But I do want to help you loosen your bonds, Sadie.” Her eyes open at this. “To show you the other side, and to free you of the dungeon where you’re lost. Pain doesn’t have to mean suffering. Between us, it can be the ultimate pleasure and freedom.”
“I can’t,” she admits, and I stop my progression right above her collarbone. She pulls away so that my hand stays suspended between us. “That divider is the only thing saving me from truly becoming a monster. If you take that away, if I accept that it’s okay, then I might be lost forever.”
“I don’t understand.” I try again to reach for her, but she slips farther out of reach, putting a painful distance between us.
As she stands, she looks down at me. “My dungeon master opened my eyes long ago, Colton. I am who I am.”
“That’s not true. You had something taken, stripped away. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. It’s all about trust.” I hold her gaze, imploring her to trust me now. “Just give me one chance to prove that to you.”
And in this second, with her glassy eyes swallowing me, I feel her giving in. Hearing my words, and accepting us as inevitable. This has to happen. She didn’t find me by accident, and I didn’t just stumble upon my goddess.
An infuriating beep breaks the moment, and I lose her as she glances down at her bag. She pulls out her phone and taps the screen.
“Something important?”
Her features shift from the sultry, wanting woman to the cool and in control profiler I met in my apartment. “I have to go.” She turns to leave, but pauses and looks back at me. “Why red, Colton?”
A small smile twitches at my lips. Standing, I bring myself close to her and push her fake hair away from her face, loving how her sudden breath drags over her lips at the almost contact. “Because you’re my vision.”