Or did Eric cleverly plot this fiasco in an effort to destroy Taylor’s chance at love just as Taylor destroyed his? There are only two men who knew about Taylor and my secret life, only two men who know the answers to those questions: one of them is dead. The other is the killer.
I lie here on Taylor’s bed in silence because I don’t know what to say and I don’t want time to move forward. If I just stay here for a while, I can freeze everything. I won’t have to face Taylor wondering if he loves me in a pure way or as a possession, a thing he will never let go of. Yet to ask Taylor those questions is an affront to him, to imply that I might somehow believe his greatest enemy over him, and the look in his eyes would tear me apart. And so I lie here in silence, because the silence is safe. There has been so much noise, so much crying, and screaming, and begging, that now all I want is to stay frozen.
My life now belongs to Taylor. I never handed it over and he never asked, but I left Rubix immediately after the incident. I am in no condition to work, and while Taylor was able to cover my absence that day, it was clear my return could not be guaranteed. I am honest enough to acknowledge to myself that my performance at Rubix had always been lacking because there was always something distracting me, that something being my life as I now know it. Being with Taylor is all-consuming. I can’t have a normal life and be with Taylor. Those two concepts are contradictory. I understand that now.
All Taylor can do is wait. While in the past he had encouraged me to seek therapy, I scoffed at the idea. I am strong, I can handle the pain. But it wasn’t just one thing, it’s never any one thing. Each layer weighed upon me, until the weight of all the burdens became too heavy. Hiding a killing, whether it is justifiable homicide or not, finally made the total burden too heavy to bear.
When I found out I had been raped, I wanted blood. I told myself I would do anything to get back at Eric. When I saw how it destroyed Taylor, I wanted vengeance for the both of us. But it doesn’t translate when that person looks you in the eyes and swears his innocence. When, later, you watch as those two eyes become empty with his last breaths. I should be happy like Taylor, but all that courses through me is a sense of doom, a sense that there is more than we know.
I have never known so much but been certain of so little.
Now that there are too many layers, therapy is no longer an option. Now I have secrets to bear, secrets no one else can know. Taylor tried to warn me, about digging things up, about lying to the police about Eric. These acts resulted in burdens that will never be lightened, much less disappear. Like our parents, Taylor and I are the bearer of lies and secrets. I think back to the words he said to me, when he mentioned the children I thought we would never have. I’m not sure if he truly meant those words, of if they were in the throes of an adrenaline rush. Would they become the carriers of our secrets? Would the cycle ever break?
I know the answer. The only way to break the cycle is for those secrets to be no more and right now, that seems impossible. I will never betray Taylor’s trust. Whatever he did, he did for me, and I will never reveal to anyone what happened in the field.
“Shyla, I don’t know what to do. I just want you to come back to me.” I had heard so many things in Taylor’s voice since the day we met: anger, lust, love, sadness, hurt, happiness. But this was the first time I had heard fear and helplessness. Taylor could control everything, but he could not force this. “Shy…come back to me…” he says as I drift further away.
Chapter 2
The day after Eric’s death
I open my eyes and a wave of melancholy kicks me in the chest; it is so stifling, so suffocating, that I cannot breathe. I reach for Taylor. I need him here, I need his touch, it anchors me, it cloaks me in security. He is not there. I shoot up in a panic. Has something happened to him? How long have I been asleep? The pillow on his side of the bed is dented, so he was asleep here with me at some point. I look over at the clock, it’s past 11am. I had so little rest the day before, he must have left me to sleep in. My heart rate slows. You’ll be fine, Shyla. Everything will be fine.
But there is a sense of foreboding, one I cannot shake. The shock of witnessing Eric’s death is slowly fading, and now I am left with guilt. Guilt that somehow this all revolves around me. That I bring tragedy to pass. Maybe Randall was right, a love like ours ends in tragedy, it burns bright and fast and everything it touches dissipates within its heat. I thought Randall was talking about me and Taylor, but maybe he was trying to tell me that it’s not us, but those around us who will burn in our flames.
My heart rate slows, but the unrelenting sadness does not go away. Instead, I tuck my head into my knees and I cry. No, I weep uncontrollably. I mean for this to be a private moment, something that I can release and then put on a brave face for Taylor, but it consumes me. It breaks me down so that I am shaking, my chest contracting so strongly that I feel like I am drowning in my own tears.
Now, I don’t want Taylor to find me and comfort me. I want something else I know he can provide.
This time I wake up to Taylor’s voice and touch. “Shy, it’s almost four, don’t you want to get up?” His tone is ambiguous. I can tell he’s not sure if he should be concerned or not. He wasn’t worried after we showered upon his return to the house. I was quiet, but he told me that it would take some time to absorb everything that had happened and then it would all be fine. As if I had just found out I didn’t get some job I wanted, it was just an unfortunate hurdle to move past. I reach over for his hand and grab it. “No.”
“You can’t sleep the entire day away.”
“Why not?”
“Is something wrong?”
I almost laugh to myself. The question is nearly comical. There is so much to say, but I don’t have the energy or the desire to say a word. “Come lay with me,” my raspy voice requests.
He slides into the bed with me. “Talk to me Shy. I know this is hard for you, but we are going to be fine.”
“I know.”
“So tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I am just feeling right now. Things I don’t want to feel and I need them to go away.”
As he brushes my hair back, a wave of his familiar clean, masculine scent reaches my nose. I have become conditioned to feel safe around it. “You know I will listen. You are my only concern. I want to make you okay with this. But you need to trust in my decisions.”
I think back to when I last had the desire to cut myself. He told me to let him help me through those emotions. He understands the need to bring the emotional into the physical. I need him to do that. I don’t want to talk, I want to feel.
“Take me to the club.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to go to the club.”
“The club?”
“Yes. Tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”
“I didn’t think you would be ready for that. The last time we were—“
“I am. I want to go back. I want you to do whatever you want to me there. Whatever you want.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to have me. I want you to do filthy shit to me.”
I feel Taylor’s weight shift away from me. Isn’t this what he wants? Has something changed?
“I know you’ve been crying.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I just want you to know that I know.” He pauses. “Will this make you better?”
I feel a knot in my chest rise to my throat and I choke it back down. I rapidly shake my head up and down, but I can’t get the words out. I believe it will.
It’s as if Taylor understands suddenly. I need him to take control, we can hug later, we can talk later, but right now, I need him to take away my sense of self. I want him to solely occupy my mind and body. He understands, he takes all and I give entirely. This is our symbiosis. This is how we make each other better.
“We leave in two hours. You s
hould eat. You are going to need to be strong. Lord knows you have had enough sleep.” I find the detached, dominant Taylor oddly comforting.
***
We pull up the the gate just as we did upon my first visit to the club with him. Our ride was filled with the sounds of Bach to mask the silence between us. Taylor recites his code into the intercom: Red 1021. We put on our masks, and this time, I do not ask questions, I do not beg him to tell me what’s next. This time, it’s all in his hands.
I do say one thing to him before we get out of the car. “I know it’s your choice. But I do have a request. Please make it filthy.” My breathing shudders. “Whatever you have wanted to do. Don’t hold back. Make it hurt.”
I sense Taylor attempt to hide his surprise, but it morphs into a realization. He really does have me, completely. I surrender. I fucking surrender.
“I will consider that. Now, I’d appreciate if you don’t speak unless I ask for you to do so. Your behavior during our last visit was not something I can tolerate with frequency here.”
I nod. He won’t have to worry about me saying much tonight, this he already knows.
My attire under my trench is different from last time. One would argue, it’s far more revealing than the last outfit. On my feet are spiky black patent leather ankle boots with a five-inch stiletto. Under a deceptively simply black velvet mini dress I am wearing what is most telling: a series of leather straps with reinforced leather loops throughout. The straps are designed to frame everything, but hide nothing. They wrap around my breasts, leaving them bare; they firmly frame my ass, but each cheek is fully exposed. My inner thighs are wrapped like a harness, but my sexual openings are completely accessible. He told me he had it custom designed it for me. I couldn’t help but feel that my body had become an object on display. And I was completely okay with that.
We go through the same protocols until we are in the lobby. This time, Lane greets us less ostentatiously, and while I look her straight in the eyes, I barely listen to what she has to say. It is irrelevant. Taylor’s arm reaches firmly around my waist and leads me up the grand staircase, past many doors (including the one where we had witnessed the show) and through another door. It is a small room, it appears to be an anteroom of sorts, but I am not sure. The room is dimly lit, with a fireplace providing the only light against the old wooden walls and heavy burgundy silk drapes. My heart races with adrenaline because I am unsure of what will transpire, but I do not lack trust. It is the rush that only comes with letting Taylor do whatever he wants.
“Shy,” he tilts my chin up so that I look at him. “Here you will call me Master. Not Taylor, not Master Taylor. Simply Master. Sir is also acceptable. Never utter my name. You will call no one else by that title. In fact, no one but I can address you here. If someone dares to do so, you defer to me. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Please practice a vocal response.”
“Yes, Master.” The words rolling off my tongue feel so foreign, yet to liberating. He is giving me what he knows I need. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to engage in pleasantries. I want Taylor to take charge: to think for me, to anticipate my needs. All this time I thought I was his sub in some way, but today, in this moment, I am truly letting him own me.
The energy between us is so strong I can almost reach out and grab it in the air between us. Taylor has had tastes of this, but I have never given him free reign. Not to flatter myself, but I imagine this must be intensely exciting for him, to have the woman he loves trust him enough to submit to his demands.
“Do you remember your safe word?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Recite it to me.”
“Red.”
Taylor nods. In an instant the dress is whipped off of my body. I am on display, his trophy, but I am not me. I am anonymous, a nameless girl behind a mask. It separates me from what I am about to do.
My master also wears a mask. Though I wonder if his true mask is the black contraption obscuring his face, or the handsome and charming facade he uses to deceive the outside world.
“Follow me,” Taylor beckons, gliding to a different door than the one we entered. I watch his taut ass and narrow hips move beneath the fine wool fabric of his well-cut black trousers, as he confidently heads to the door. He tosses his jacket aside and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. My heart fills with love for him. Yes, right now he is my master, but he will always be my Taylor.
I follow and he stops abruptly, turns and grabs my face in his hand, passionately kissing me. It catches me so off-guard, I stumble back a few steps, but he firmly holds me against his body with his other arm. The fabric of his shirt rustles against my taut nipples and I push my breasts towards him, then my hips, feeling the length of his erection pressing against me.
“You’re mine. And I love you. This is about trust, do you understand?”
He is reminding me that underneath all of this, we are still Taylor and Shy. This is an extension of us, but we are so much more than this.
“Yes, Mas—“ but he reaches his finger over my lips to silence me. This one time, he doesn’t want me to call him Master.
I bite my lip to stifle a smile, Taylor is so serious right now, but his lips are smudged with my lipstick. It’s my way of marking him as mine.
He smiles back, I think it’s because it’s the first time he has seen me smile in a while.
***
Taylor opens the door, and we are back in that room with the show, the one I ran from last time. Now, however, we are on the other side. We are not the spectators; we are the act. The last time we were here, only Lane was a witness to our intimacy, but now in front of me, in the shadows, are men of all types. In the far corner they are watching a woman being ravaged by two men. However, when we walk in, so many eyes shift to us. Across the room there is a large mirror and in it our reflections. I understand why they stare. The sight is so perfectly erotic. Next to me stands a tall, statuesque man. Though his mask hides so many of his pleasing facial features, his jaw line and his thick dark hair reveal enough for anyone to understand that this man is a specimen. I see myself, behind the raven mask, my dark hair wildly hanging down my back, the thick leather bands propping up my breasts and encircling my behind, offering my flesh up for pleasure. I don’t recognize myself and yet I am turned on by my own image. I wonder if someone might try and approach and it makes me nervous. I told Taylor he could do whatever he wanted, but he had promised me long ago that he would not share me. Have things changed?
There must be some unspoken code I don’t know about, because there are no attempts. These people understand I am solely his property. On the wall adjacent to us is an armoire. Taylor approaches it. Much like in the darkroom, this one is full of instruments designed to inflict both pain and pleasure. He grabs thin rope, but I cannot make out its purpose until he wraps my hands behind my back and uses the reinforced leather hoops on my garment to secure my tied hands to my lower back.
“On your knees,” he commands.
“Yes, Master.”
“I do not require a vocal response from now on unless I ask you for one.” I nod. “You following my commands is a satisfactory response.” His deep voice booms in the relative silence of the room. I wonder if the woman on the other side is gagged. I glance to the spectators and most of them have now turned to us, perhaps feeling the magnetism too. A surge of warmth radiates through my body and arouses me. Not only am I arousing the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes upon, but our sexual energy vibrates strongly throughout the room, bringing mere strangers to our mercy.
Taylor stands above me, casting a shadow over me. Suddenly, I feel small and helpless, but I know I am safe. He whips open his belt buckle. Please take off your shirt, I beg in my thoughts. I lick and bite my lips as a conditioned response to waiting for him in this position. He pulls a chair up towards me and sits back on it, painfully grabbing my hair and thrusting my mouth onto his cock. His guides my head at the exa
ct speed he wants, with no consideration for the choking and gagging noises emerging from my throat.
Taylor throws his head back in complete ecstasy, the muscles of his lower body tighten, in a attempt to stifle his release. I sense his strong arousal from the firmness pressed against my lips. I want him to slide himself in my pussy, but my wishes are not relevant at this moment. He still hasn’t removed his shirt and I so desperately want to watch the ripples of his abs as he breathes in and out.
“Fuck Sh…” he stops himself from uttering my name by biting his lower lip. “You little dirty bitch. Do you like this?” His question catches me off guard. “Tell me.” He pulls back on my hair so that I release him from my mouth.
“I do…Master.” I had almost forgotten how address him with so much going on.
“Tell me what else you want.”
“May I?” Completely deferring to him is strangely comforting.
“You have my permission.”
“I want to see your body. I want to feel your big cock inside of me.” Then I remember, there are people watching. I glance over to the gallery of mostly men touching themselves. Others, unbearably aroused by watching us, are already entwined with with their own partners. My eyes dart back to Taylor, who is smirking. My eyes must nearly be popping out of my head, but the mask hides my befuddlement.
“I believe you want me to fuck you, but I don’t think you’ve earned it quite yet. The privilege of my cum inside of you has to be earned.”
Taylor rises, his erection still at full attention. I wonder why it seems to easy for him to wait when I am flooded with arousal. He adheres to one of my requests by unbuttoning his shirt and exposing the ridges of his abs. His pants dangle at the lowest point of his hips, revealing white boxer shorts from which his cock emerges. Taylor approaches the armoire and returns with more items. The first one he presents to me is a blindfold. Disappointment pits in my stomach as I realize my view of Taylor will cease, but anticipation just as soon takes its place.
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