“Good girl,” David said, and she stirred, trying to remember what she’d been afraid of and why she should move. She said his name, very thickly, and he laughed. “Oh, no, not yet, my pet. Not for quite a while.”
They went shopping in the afternoon, to bookstores and fetish shops, to department stores and adult stores. Gwen, her pulse kicking higher, wrapped her hands around her forearms across her lower back, getting as close to her elbows as she could. In one leather shop the man behind the counter watched them as if they weren’t somewhere people habitually went on leashes. In another, the clerk with the pink hair and double nose rings watched them as if afraid they were going to create some kind of spectacle. But David only wandered with Gwen, showing her the future to come with cuffs, ropes, blindfolds, floggers, cats, paddles, crops and whips. Heat climbed in Gwen’s cheeks and she followed him to a dark corner where he showed her restraints, plugs and dildos and another where he backed her into a cage and at a short, sharp “Sir!” from the pink-haired clerk, didn’t close it, but laughed at Gwen’s expression.
“One day,” he said, “I’ll make you write out a list of punishments you’d truly like to not experience and then do them to you for the next ten days.”
Gwen raised her eyes to his. “It’s not D/D, Sir,” she said.
David nodded as if she’d just made his point. “Even slaves can misbehave.”
The party wouldn’t start until ten. David bought her pizza for dinner. When she raised her eyebrows at his choice, he grinned, looking somewhat like a demonic little boy. “It’s not like you’re going to eat much regular dinner. And you’ll need your strength.”
She shuddered, and ate pepperoni pizza and watched seagulls in the parking lot. David took her hand across the table and early evening sunlight gleamed off his wedding band. They’d been married nine years when he told her some of the things he’d been wanting and it was as if someone had lit a fuse under Gwen. David had talked for what seemed hours, explaining he wanted a Master/slave relationship, and what he would expect of her, and how much he loved her, and what he thought her desires really were.
He promised if she said no they wouldn’t change from who they were, he’d put that side of himself away, somehow—and she’d interrupted him, kissing him hard, her mouth bruising his, her fingers tangling in his hair until he stopped her, and held her, without speaking, then rose and took her hand and led her upstairs to their bedroom, streetlight pouring in the windows, and they never bothered with the lights, never even bothered to fully undress. And still it was their last vanilla coupling.
He’d wakened her the next morning with a harsh spanking and followed that by shoving her down under the covers to give him a blow job. She’d adapted quickly, something in her recognizing what she’d been searching for. She started shaving, started dressing for him in heels and stockings and often nothing else. Exercise and diet took on new meaning. David took pride in his possessions. When he collared her, she panicked, and panicked again several times after that. David didn’t bother to talk her down. He just waited her out. She was his. She couldn’t do anything about the collar, so why bother panicking?
They talked about what they wanted, Gwen naked and kneeling in front of him on the floor, and even so she somehow hadn’t thought that it would ever all come to pass, all those things she’d said on that long lazy summer afternoon between the blow jobs and the spankings and the times he’d play with her until she almost exploded and then make her sit still, on the floor, on the couch, hands behind her back.
Pain. Humiliation. Forced exhibitionism. Strangers touching her, commanding her, playing with her; everything but fucking her, he’d promised. That was his alone.
She hadn’t really expected it would come to pass. Even when they ordered plane tickets, it had always been in the future. Something she didn’t have to think of yet.
“Are you going to eat that?”
Gwen stared at the pizza, then at David, and shook her head.
“Come on, then.”
In the hotel room he stripped her, leaving her only her shoes and stockings, then tied her facedown to the bed, arms and legs spread-eagled. “Lift a little to the right,” he said, kneeling on the bed behind her, and when she did he wedged two of the hard foam pillows under the edge of her hip and thigh, then leaned over her other side and, once secured, her lower body rested far enough above the bed so that she couldn’t grind or rub or touch.
David drew one finger lightly down the back of her neck, along her spine, gently, teasingly, lovingly. He traced the dimples above her ass, cupped her cheeks, drew them apart just slightly. He ran his finger over her lips, along her clit, touched just the outside edges of her asshole.
Gwen writhed. She thrashed. When she started to moan, he picked up her discarded thong and wadded it into her mouth. Then he went back to stroking. Gently. Faster and slower. Over her clit. Over and over her clit, and lips, and ass.
He let her up three hours before the party, told her to go shower and get completely ready. Gwen, flushed, desperate for release, nodded but took in the time.
“We have time yet,” she said.
David nodded, seemingly not annoyed she hadn’t just followed his orders. “Yes. I want to give you plenty of time to anticipate.”
She dressed to his specifications, taking her time because he’d given her so much of it. Every minute that ticked by made her more nervous. Every article of clothing made her hotter.
The shoes were red, long and pointed with four-inch heels, because anything more made her fall flat on her face. Thin straps surrounded her ankles. Her stockings ended about the place her skirt came down to. The skirt itself was nothing special, just short and black, but her top was as tight and red as her shoes, a cinched corset top. She thought she looked like an erotic, adult version of Heidi. All she needed were braids instead of the sleek, pulled-back style her auburn hair was restrained in. But clothes didn’t matter that much. The skirt would come off at some point during the party, leaving her with flame-red tap pants to match the corset top, and David promised somebody at some point was bound to remove even those.
The party was being held in an old Victorian, three stories and a basement tucked discreetly into a gentrifying neighborhood whose other residents doubtless had no idea what was going on inside.
She made it to the front stairs before she balked. At the last minute it seemed that all that mattered was explaining away the cost of everything they’d done to get here, why it was a good thing anyway, why she was perfectly happy and satisfied, and why they could just go. Right now.
David waited her out, pulling her into a thicket of roses off the front walk so they didn’t hinder the arrival of other guests. A few people said hello, but night had fallen, a true October night with wood smoke scenting the salty Pacific Northwest air. David just listened and breathed, and for Gwen the terror jacked higher, that he was listening. That might mean that he would take her away. That he might not. She wanted it. So much. Had dreamed about it: the voyeurism, the exhibitionism. The strangers. The pain. She didn’t know what she wanted most. She wanted it all. The trip, the shopping, the anticipation, the inevitable release at David’s hands; the fantasies, anyway—they weren’t enough.
She wanted it.
She craved it. As much as she ever had. She swallowed the terror and slowly made herself stop talking.
He smiled at her then, and took her hand, and led her inside.
Just inside the door a woman stood lashed to the staircase balustrade. Gwen did a double take, after promising herself she wouldn’t, not even once, and then smiled, to show she wasn’t at all shocked or surprised at the naked woman or the ropes that bound her tightly, her breasts jutting out between the ropes. She had a feeling her smile would have fallen flat if only the girl had been even slightly aware of her. But the eyes Gwen looked into were dreamy, ecstatic and miles away.
“Let’s go this way,” David said, guiding her by the elbow, and Gwen let herself be led.
“We’re talking about the election and some of the scary conservatives running,” she said, sliding across the couch so Gwen could sit beside her. The man on her other side said, “Scared conservatives works just as well,” and someone laughed.
“I’m Angel,” the redhead said. “It’s my party. Are you the couple from Nevada?” She directed her question at David, who either looked less freaked out or less lustful or more aware than Gwen, she thought, and then, slowly, Gwen reached up and touched the Eternity Collar around her own throat. The cold metal was at once both tremendously reassuring and a bit of a shock. Mostly she realized that here it meant something. Something more than what it meant at home, with David, who loved her. Something more than it meant at work, where she hung charms off it or wove scarves through it.
Gwen took a look around the room at the couples, making mental guesses at relationships, and slid, quietly, to the floor at David’s feet.
Her blood pumped hard and strong. Her breath came quick and shallow. Her sex felt wet and hot and swollen and she wanted more than anything for David to take over.
“Well, you didn’t come all the way from Nevada to listen to the lot of us discuss politics,” Angel said, standing. Tiny and fiery, Gwen thought she might be as tall as Angel was standing while Gwen was still sitting on the floor. “If you like, I’ll give you a tour.”
The three-story Victorian was full of shadows and vibrant or ominous or stark or moody lighting. Groups passed by wrapped around each other or trailing on leashes or following orders on definite missions. David walked beside Gwen and held her hand. No one blinked. Her collar stated her place. Her Master’s choice was up to him, and David liked to touch her.
The kitchen was full of famished people in various stages of dress and undress. Marble countertops glittered with candle stubs and featured cold cuts and antipasto, pizza and cake and, forlorn, an entire ham no one apparently had the energy to deal with.
If it hadn’t been for the absence of alcohol and the prevalence of cider, it would have looked like any party.
“C’mon,” Angel said, and disappeared through a door Gwen had taken for a pantry.
Stone steps descended, worn and crumbling, leading down into a dank basement. The temperature changed instantly; a cold, clammy indication that everything had just changed.
They both stopped at the bottom of the stairs, David as frozen as Gwen.
The basement was a marvel.
Separated into sections, decorated and lighted to reflect the various activities, it sported six different kinky camps.
Gwen’s throat closed instantly. David’s grip on her hand tightened.
“Oh,” Angel said, stiffening. “There’s someone I need to talk to. Listen, just make yourselves at home. If you want to use equipment that’s not in use, feel free. If you need something for a scene, look for someone with a green ribbon on their shirt. As long as you don’t interrupt anything, you can pretty much observe anything you want.”
Before either could answer, she gave them a fey girl grin and flickered away into a knot of people in the center of the basement.
“It’s a little like a really weird craft show,” Gwen said as they started around the perimeter of the room. They stopped at the edge of a group watching two women on spanking horses and the Dom in between working up a sweat with a flogger and a leather strap, alternating between implements and bottoms. One girl’s face was red and wet, her fingers white-knuckling the horse. The other wore the distant dreamy gaze of the girl at the stairs. Every few strokes the man between them would stop and murmur questions at them and wait for answers.
David pressed himself tight behind her. “Looks like they’re almost finished. Do you…”
She swallowed, afraid he’d hear it and longing to press her clit against the hard wood of the horse while David stood behind her, or maybe the man in the black T-shirt, wielding a crop or the strap, or even a wooden paddle. She wanted to feel wood against her naked bottom.
The fear crashed up inside her.
“Let’s see more first.”
His fingers tightened around hers and he followed her as they moved counterclockwise through the room, past rope play and suspension, the girl’s breasts protruding and the man with her just clamping her nipples. Past a scene between three people neither of them could quite make out, but which seemed to be moving along just fine without them. Directly across from the stairs they came to a St. Andrew’s cross, where a muscular man hung from silken bonds, his back red with marks but skin unbroken. His eyes were half closed and sweat beaded the dark beard stubble on his jaw. He looked ecstatic.
David crossed his arms over her breasts from behind. “Let me tie you up and spank you.” Watching the man on the cross, Gwen licked her lips. But David was asking. She pressed the longing down.
“I want to see,” she said. She did. But still. Two more stations, one with edgy knife play that made both of them tighten around each other and move on with more haste than they meant to exhibit. The last featured play piercing.
Her heart hammered. There was nothing more to see in the basement.
“So what’s your pleasure?” he asked, his voice hot in her ear. His teeth nipped the outer curl where her piercings were.
I want, I want, I want, Gwen thought, but started to say, “Then what’s upstairs?”
She got only to the word up before he slipped his fingers into her collar and used it to sink her slowly to her knees.
One or two people blinked at them, but they stood back out of the way of any play. David bent from the waist, his fingers still inside her collar, and whispered directly in her ear.
“When I release you, you are going to stand up and take off your skirt, fold it and place it over there.” He indicated a table along one wall, all but lost in the blur Gwen’s vision had become.
She nodded, swallowed, blinked, and nothing cleared. Her vision remained blurred. Her ears rang. Everything sounded loud and confusing, overwhelming.
The only thing you have to listen to is David.
At once she was able to take a full breath, and when David released her an instant later, she rose with some grace, took his proffered arm for support, and stepped out of her skirt. A couple more people paused to watch her, but in tap pants and what now felt like a very girlish corset top, she was more dressed than many of the other guests.
When she walked back to him, she saw the cross was now empty.
David smiled and held out his hand to her.
Something changed in that instant for her. Suddenly the fear tumbled away, the anticipation became joy. What had started as longing or craving or need was again.
He led her to the cross, arranged her to stand facing it. “I love you,” he said, and fastened her left wrist to the wood. She stood still, as if her body no longer belonged to her, and waited for him to cross behind her and lift her right arm, securing that wrist.
“Make me proud.”
She breathed in slowly through her mouth.
David fastened her ankles with shackles, right, then left. She faced the cross and wondered how many people had stopped to watch. It didn’t matter, somehow. There was sensation. Anticipation. Fear fluttered around the edges. Her belly felt tight. Her sex felt drenched. David stood beside her, attaching a short lead from the cross to her collar.
“I don’t want you to make a sound. Do you understand?”
She kept her eyes lowered. “Yes, Sir.”
“Can you do that for me?”
Could she? She wanted to say she’d try. She wanted to ask if this had changed from what she wanted to what he wanted. She wanted to resist, to struggle or run or bolt, or balk again.
“Yes, Sir,” Gwen said.
When the
first lash fell, she felt almost as if she had already moved outside herself. She could hear David’s steady breathing, and the sound of what she guessed was a crop whistling up through the air and then down at her. Gwen jolted at the blow, no harder or softer than those David had given her at home where she’d knelt on pillows or bent over chairs to receive whatever he wanted to give her.
This, here, with others, with acceptance, with ritual, was new. Different. The first blow bit like fire and the glow traveled instantly to her sex. She could have stopped then, dragged herself from the cross, dragged David from the party, made use of the rental car and every square inch of the hotel room.
The second snap burned. She let her head fall back. Her mind soared. Every image from the evening screamed in at her.
Third strike. He wanted her to stay quiet. She wanted to scream with joy.
Gwen bit her lip and stopped thinking, stopped counting, stopped analyzing. She gloried in sensation, in the warmth of pain spreading into want. At the idea of everyone around her. At being the center of attention in a group that probably held its breath for her, the way she had for the girls on the horses and the woman at the stairs. She wanted it all, she wanted everything, and as the crop snapped down faster, heating her ass, she knew if David let her down now she might just fall at his feet, too overwhelmed to do anything else.
She opened her eyes, wrapped her fingers around the chains that secured the cuffs and smiled up at the ceiling without seeing it.
David’s hands brought her back. He unfastened the cuffs from the cross and led her to a dark quiet spot in the basement. Gwen leaned against him and felt foolish and somehow chilled. When she looked up at him, keeping her eyes downcast but tilting her face up, David took her chin in his hands and kissed her for a very long time. When he left off he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. She had no idea where her skirt had gone or whether or not she was cold. Without thinking, she reached out for David’s hand, instituting contact, and he didn’t object. He took her hand in one of his and kissed her knuckles. In the other hand he held the camera. She remembered hearing photography wasn’t allowed at play parties. She also remembered the flash going off.
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