Strapped

by Nina G. Jones

  He tilts his chin down and shakes his head modestly at the comment while hiding a grin. I move over behind him and kiss his shoulder blade.

  “Don’t you get me started doll, not until I show you the room. Don’t you want to get comfortable?” I slip on the shirt he wore to dinner as he heads to the closet. My phone buzzes inside of my purse in the distance.

  Rumor has it you will fuck for money.

  The text nearly causes me to drop the phone. Like the last strange message I received, it is from a number I do not recognize. Again, I don’t want to detract from the time we are spending together. I have never been one to ask for help and given Taylor’s natural inclination to take care of me, I think he might overreact. The possibility of it being Rick crosses my mind, but that doesn’t make sense because he would never do something like that. I just know it’s not him. I hear Taylor pressing the keypad. Then he asks from the closet if everything is okay and I inform him it is just a text from Kristin as I drop the phone back into my purse.

  When I walk into the closet, Taylor is nowhere to be found, but the door that was once impenetrable is now open and I walk across the threshold. I am surrounded by charcoal-colored walls; the coolness of leather floor tile is underfoot. The room is lit with lamps that cast a crimson light on all my surroundings. Taylor stands in the corner quietly watching me, shirtless in a pair of gray linen pajama bottoms. He is an illuminated red Adonis. Ornaments and tools I do not recognize hang neatly on the walls. At the farthest end of the room is an enormous circular bed framed by four equidistant posts adorned with black satin sheets. Just in front of the bed is a huge lambskin rug. Everything is perfectly organized and every instrument has its place. Despite all the ornamentation, the room maintains the sterility of a doctor’s office. I don’t say a word and neither does Taylor, as I cautiously walk around the perimeter of the room running my fingers along the various whips and crops that adorn the walls. I spot hooks embedded on the ceilings and walls. These must be used for bondage. I walk to a large chest of drawers with leather pulls.

  “May I?” Taylor gives me permission. These drawers are full of smaller instruments: dildos, anal beads, vibrators, clamps, ball gags. These are things I have only heard of or seen in pornography, but never in my life had I considered using them. I close the drawer and turn towards Taylor.

  “Thoughts?” Taylor asks, his arms crossed, but relaxed, not moving from his stance in the opposite corner of the room.

  I do not have any coherent thoughts, rather, I am just feeling. The feelings are not something I can easily express. As I digest them, the most unlikely reaction surfaces first: inadequacy. This man has had so many sexual partners and they were clearly partaking in some sort of sexual Olympics. He is a pro and admittedly, he has been with “pros.” I don’t even know how to use these instruments. He exudes a sexual confidence that I don’t think I can ever achieve.

  “Wow. I had no idea. You must find me to be a real bore.”

  “Oh come on.” Taylor nods his head in disapproval.

  “I’ll admit it. I am a little intimidated. I don’t know what to do and most of this just looks painful.”

  “Shy, no one is born knowing how to use this stuff and yes, pain is part of the process, but only because pain and pleasure are tied together. The key is finding where that line is for yourself.”

  “You’re the expert, I guess.”

  He starts to walk over to me, the veil envelops his face, the one where his expression loses all playfulness and simply becomes desire. I stiffen up, not knowing what is about to come. “The key is to let go of control so you can experience pleasure in new ways. That is if you want to. I’m sorry but watching you walk around in here is very arousing, I never thought this was a sight I would see. Do you?” My heart rate picks up and I feel a heat come over me. My breathing shallows. His words alone incite a physical reaction.

  “What are you planning to do to me?”

  “Do you mind if I tie your hands up and cover your eyes? We can just start with that, unless you want to try more.”

  I nod my head, looking down at the floor. “You look really sexy in my shirt, but I don’t think that’s staying on for long.” He takes my hand and guides me to the bed, where I sit. I shouldn’t dive into this so quickly, but a mixture of curiosity and magnetism make it nearly impossible for my rational thinking to dominate. He goes to the chest of drawers and pulls out a blindfold that he gently places over my eyes. He tells me to wait. There is silence. At any moment I could pull off the blindfold, but I do not. Surprisingly, I find myself liking the mystery and the anticipation. After about five minutes, I hear clanking noises, it must be metal...handcuffs? My heart races even faster. He is so light on his feet, I don’t even know he is next to me when I hear him tell me to relax. Only then do I notice that I am clenching the bedsheets. I unclench and he agonizingly unbuttons the shirt and pulls it off so that all I am wearing is my thong.

  I hear him assembling something at the head of the bed for another five minutes.

  “Shy, are you sure about this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lay back.”

  I obey. I feel his strong grip grab my right arm and pull it overhead. I expect cold metal handcuffs, but instead I feel leather around my wrist. He ties the other wrist, followed by both of my legs. Just hours ago, he was begging me to stay with him, telling me he would sacrifice all of this to be with me and now here I am, completely helpless, blind, immobile, and weak. I am at his total mercy. I would laugh at myself for believing the illusion of ever having control if I weren’t so nervous.

  “Is this still okay for you?” I nod my head in response.

  “There is going to be pain, and you may scream even if you like it. So we need a safe word, a word that really means stop when you say it. What do you want it to be?”

  “I don’t know...what have you used in the past?”

  “Too many to count. It has to be something you won’t forget in the heat of the moment.”

  “How about red? As in code red? The room is cast in red, if I am too dumb to remember that, I am in trouble.” I think I hear him smile.

  “That works. Now things will change until we are finished here Shyla. I am in control.”

  “Please be easy on me.” There is no response. I decide against repeating myself. I know he heard me the first time. I feel his weight leave the bed. Then I wait, and wait, and wait. Without all of my senses I have no good way to measure time. Every second feels like a minute, every minute feels like 30 have passed. I want to say something, but I don’t want Taylor to see my nerves. Finally, I feel his weight pressing against the bed again.

  “I don’t want you to say a word to me until we are finished unless you need to use the safe word. Nod if you understand.” I nod. The coldness with which he speaks to me reminds me very much of my interview for H.I.

  He hasn’t touched me yet. I am completely out of control in a way that I never have felt before. I feel a tickle; it is so light that it makes me squirm.

  “No squirming Shy” I can’t help it. He rubs the fringes on my pelvic bone. He knows this will make me squirm. “Simple instructions Shy. That gets you two.”

  “Two what?”

  “That gets you five.” The speaking rule! I have no idea what he means until I feel the first slap against my front thigh. It is not unbearably painful, but it stings. I jump which reminds me of my complete restraint. My first instinct is to tell him to stop, whipping wasn’t part of the agreement, but that subsides and I choose to see if I can take all five. Each slap is on a different part of my body and due to my temporary blindness, I have no idea where the next hit is landing. He counts after each one lands: my arms, my waist. At three, he stops and unties my legs. He then unties my hands and quickly rolls me onto my stomach tying my hands behind my back. I am still very nervous. I am not sure what I am dealing with and I don’t know where this is going.

  “Bend your knees.” Since I have no way to support my upper
body, I pull my knees in, one at a time, and the right side of my face is pressed into the bed. It feels dirty-I feel dirty-and we haven’t even had sex yet. “I am going to fuck you so hard that you are going to scream. You are going to beg. You are going to cry.” I am terrified, but at the same time I feel the kind of exhilaration one feels before jumping off of a cliff. The rapture sends waves of awareness throughout my body. He reserves the last two whips for between my legs. He doesn’t slap as hard, but the area doesn’t need much force to feel the stinging. His warm lips and tongue follow, the area is engorged from the whipping and is ready to receive his mouth. I moan and moan. I want to, but I dare not say his name. He puts his width inside of me fast and hard and I let out a yelp. I have no way to brace myself, I am completely exposed to him. Every thrust is harder than the last and I can’t take it. Finally I plead.

  “Taylor!” but he continues. Red. I remember the word. Now that I have the key, I know I am not ready to use it. “Taylor!” I scream. I don’t care how many slaps that gets me. It is the only way I can get through all the sensations. He is right. I have reached a point where I can barely discern between pain and arousal. My neck is outstretched by his hand pulling my hair. There is not a single part of my body that is not feeling his control. I clench around his girth and the build up begins. I cannot believe it is possible under these circumstances. The hair stands up on my arms and the back of my neck. I travel outside of myself, hearing myself screaming nonsense interspersed with his name. I let out one final wail as it all pours out of me, tears streaming down my cheeks, my entire body trembling under his control. I hear his sigh as he releases inside of me. I collapse from sheer exhaustion and he also does on my right side, his arm and leg resting on top of me. I say nothing as he unwraps my hands. The rawness I feel is so strong that I don’t want to turn and look him in the eyes. To look at him right now is more than I can bear. The feelings of shock, satisfaction, disgust and arousal are more than puzzling.

  “Shy are you okay?” I hear Taylor’s voice for the first time since we finished. It is much softer. Just like that, he is back to non-dom Taylor. I don’t say anything. I keep the back of my head to his face. “Shy look at me.” I feel him stroke my hair as I gently do the inevitable and face him.

  “Are you okay?” Was that too much? You didn’t use the safe word.”

  I don’t have any words for him. Instead, I run my hand through his disheveled hair. I simply nod my head to let him know that, yes, I am okay. “I just need some sleep.” I barely get those words out as I fall into a slumber on the giant sex bed.

  The next morning I wake up in the room, alone. I have no idea what time it is due to the complete lack of natural light. The room, a collection of instruments of pain, would be the stuff of nightmares had I not been introduced to it by Taylor. The night’s events seem like a fantasy, alive in the deepest recesses of my thoughts, but not something that occurred in the physical realm. I scan over my legs to see if there are any marks, evidence of the whipping, but there is nothing. Did this really happen? Of course it did. I hesitate to find Taylor because I am embarrassed or ashamed; I don’t know what the proper word is for the feeling. It’s a mixture of excitement and dread. I am a deviant. I am now on the fringe. I know logically there should be no sense of shame in front of the man who has been doing this all of his sexual life, but I can’t help but feel the churning in my stomach at the thought of looking him in the eyes after what he did to me.

  I find the shirt of his that I wore last night, and head out of the room. I hear the click of a lock behind me when the door to the darkroom closes. As I walk through the bedroom, a wave of paranoia hits me and I quickly check the nightstand where I first found the book. It is empty. He has found a new home for it.

  I walk out to the great room and see Irma, the maid, tidying up. I bid her good morning and ask her if she has seen Taylor.

  “Señor Holden is in the pool.” He always has a way of making me feel like a complete tub of lard. I resolve to get the awkward initial interaction over with and stroll over to see him. I walk over on my tippy toes, wondering if I should have just waited instead of disturbing him. I don’t know much about swimming, but his form looks methodical and precise. I stand by the edge of the pool, waiting for him to notice my presence. He slows down and lifts his head out of the water as he nears my end of the pool.

  “Good morning Shy.”

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes.” Hopefully it’s a sign that the meds or working or that the night terrors will be a rare occurrence.

  “I didn’t know you were such a good swimmer.”

  “Yeah, three time all-American.” Of course.

  “Impressive! Was that your only sport?” I feel much more comfortable than I predicted. I thought last night would be a cloud of shame hanging over me, but Taylor is acting completely normal and that reassures me that everything will be fine. I sit down, letting my feet hang into the water, Taylor is stands right in front of my legs, his crooked smile gleaming in the bright sun.

  “Well, swimming was one of my favorites, but I also played tennis, and I fenced. Did you pay any sports?”

  “I played soccer in high school, but I didn’t pursue it any further.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know...my enthusiasm kind of faded. I thought I wasn’t good enough. Looking back though, I was a lot better than I gave myself credit for. What are your plans for today?”

  “I have to head into the office today. I would have postponed my meetings, but we have associates from China coming in and they wouldn’t take kindly to that. I am glad you woke up before I had to go, I wasn’t sure how you would feel after last night. You kind of just crashed and seemed a little bit shocked.” It is his first mention of my introduction to the lifestyle since last night. “So...how are you?”

  “I’m okay.” I feel sheepish. “I guess I need some time to absorb it.”

  “Why don’t we grab a quick bite to eat?”

  I agree and we set off back into the house. Taylor invites me to shower with him upstairs. I remember when I showered up there alone with the jets, wishing I was in there with him, and it brings a smile to my face. We stand in the huge shower stall, various bursts of hot water hitting our bodies.

  “Let’s play a game.” I declare.

  “Ok, what’s the game?”

  “I soap up your back and then I trace a three-letter word with my fingers. You get three chances to guess it, if you don’t you have to do whatever I say.” Taylor gives me a puzzled smirk.

  “Did you just invent this game?”

  “When I was little and I used to bathe with my cousins, we would do this, except it was way more innocent and there were no consequences to getting it wrong.”

  “Oh...this feels even dirtier now that I know that! You go first.”

  Taylor turns his back to me. His wide shoulders trace down to a narrow waist and hips, his butt is perfectly taut and smooth. I lather him up and trace the letters H-O-T.

  “Not fair. You have to go slower.”

  “I can only spell it for you three times.” This time I trace the letters slower and he gets it right away.

  ‘HOT!”

  “Oh come on! Don’t you ever mess up?”

  “Turn around. It’s my turn.”

  I feel his large hands gently rubbing my back, creating a large lather. How bizarre that these gentle fingers were instruments of pain last night.

  “Okay, guess.”

  Damn! My short attention span just got the best of me.

  I laugh and shake my head in bewilderment. “I have no idea, please retrace!” His fingers trace my back so quickly that I can’t even make out a single letter.

  “Are you writing in cursive?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “That’s against the rules!”

  “You never stated I had to print the letters. You only have one more try.”

  “No fair! You’re cheating
! I know what you’re up to.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” I can hear him smirking behind me. This time he goes quickly, but in print. I feel the letter “S” and the clear trace of the letter “X” on my back.

  “Sex! You are so predictable!”

  “Wrong! The word was ‘sax’ as in ‘saxophone.’ You’re the one with the filthy mind. God, all you ever do is think about sex!” He looks down and smiles and then I see a lightbulb go off in his head. “So, aren’t I supposed to get whatever I want?”

  “Yes...,” I draw the word out long and slowly. Now that I know what he is all about, this can open up a myriad of requests.

  “Well, I have to run, so as much as I want to take my time with you, I can’t.” He eyes me up and down, biting his lip while thinking. As I wait, I notice he is now fully erect. “Bend over and let me see that fine ass of yours,” he says firmly and I am thankful for the fact that we are in the upstairs bathroom far away from Irma, who is cleaning the downstairs kitchen.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Taylor is getting ready, I check on my cellphone. I see a few missed calls. Once is from Kristin, the other is a number I do not recognize. I listen to that voicemail first:

  “Hello Shyla. This is Chad Lemmings from Rubix Marketing. We received your application and would like you to come in for an interview. Please give me a call to schedule a time.”

  I tell Taylor that I got an interview. “You’ll get the job if they meet you. I am not going to lie, I kind of like having you all to myself, but I know you’ll get it.” Taylor promises he will try to get back as early as he can, but since he is entertaining out of towners, he may come home late. I text Kristin and ask if she wants to come over for dinner and she accepts. Taylor has warmed up to me telling people about us and is happy to have Kristin visit, but he wants no details about his secret life revealed. This is extremely hard, considering I tell Kristin everything. I vow to myself and Taylor to keep mum no matter how tempting it will be.