Edge Play X

by Wilson, M. Jarrett

  “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, hundred,” she began. “They give you a decent wad of cash to carry around,” she said as she continued counting to herself before announcing the total, “three-hundred-eighty-three dollars.” X took the money and put it into her bag.

  “I thought you didn’t take men’s money,” Simeon said.

  “I said that they don’t pay me for what I do. But I do take their money; many of them enjoy it. Would you like me to return it?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I have no intention of giving it back.”

  X pulled a peacock feather from her bag and went to stand in front of him, holding the plume between her full breasts.

  “Did you forget that you are not supposed to speak unless you are spoken to?” she asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “Do it again and I’ll put a ball-gag in your mouth.”

  X dragged the peacock feather gently over Simeon’s right ear and then down the side of his neck and over his collarbone before repeating the gesture on the other side of his head.

  “You have a very nice body,” she told him as she ran the feather over his abdomen. “It is almost a shame that I am going to treat it so.”

  X traded the feather for black leather blindfold, and as she leaned down to place this over his eyes, she allowed her breasts to graze his shoulders. A little moan escaped Simeon and X felt a shudder of pleasure at the sound.

  X picked up his belt and folded it in half before gently touching his shoulders with its leather. She ran it over his back and then pulled it away.

  “Would you say that you have a high threshold for pain, Agent Simeon?” she asked.

  “I have experienced a high degree of pain, yes.”

  As she stood behind him ready to whip him, X noticed a large round scar on his lower back hovering above his right hip. It looked like a scar from a bullet-hole. There was a shiny, puckered quality to it. It gave a sense of history to him. She wanted it to be a bullet scar, liked imagining the suffering he would have experienced, the burn it must have made him feel, the searing heat.

  “Is that a scar from being shot?” she asked, trying not to sound compassionate.

  “Yes,” he said, and X hit him with his belt.

  “Then what I am going to do to you should seem tame.”

  X hit him again and continued until his back was nicely pink. The collision of leather and flesh made a sharp sound, the slap of dead skin hitting live skin. When she was satisfied, X un-cuffed him, removed the blindfold, and told him to sit on the throne. Simeon climbed onto the chair. X flipped the metal arcs that had been built into the chair over his wrists and ankles before securing them with the heavy metal pins that locked them into place.

  “Isn’t this the most lovely chair?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s a work of art,” he agreed.

  “The man who made it for me was a gifted metalsmith. He said that he wanted to make this throne because he liked the idea that even nobility wasn’t free, that there was an element of sadism and masochism to royalty. It even reclines so that it can be used as a medieval rack. It has all kinds of tricks built in. You should get your government to commission one to use for the detainees you torture.”

  “I don’t torture,” he said.

  She got a chrome clothespin from her bag and gently touched it to his right nipple.

  “I am going to choose a place on your body to put this. Maybe you can help me choose.”

  X located the head of his hard penis under his boxers and touched it with the clothespin, asking him if he would like it there. He squirmed and shook his head no as she ran the pin down the shaft of his penis and held it over his scrotum, looking at him for a response. Again, he shook his head no, more forcefully this time.

  “You are no fun at all,” she told him before moving the clothespin back to his right nipple and clipping it on, his body tensing as she did so. “We are just beginning,” she taunted as she snapped a matching clip on his left nipple.

  Then X went to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and poured herself some more wine. She took a sip, enjoying the bittersweet taste of it over her lips. After that, X walked back over to her bag and pulled out a joint which she lit and took a drag from. She kneeled between Simeon’s open legs, inhaled another lungful of the drug, and blew the smoke into his mouth. He inhaled her exhalation.

  “If they drug-test you, just tell them that your dominatrix forced you to smoke it,” she said before pulling the smoke into her lungs one more time and blowing it into his mouth again.

  Her lips were touching his ever so gently, but she did not kiss him, did not want to kiss him. Simeon’s lips trembled slightly as he accepted the smoke. X snuffed out the joint in the ashtray and took a riding crop out of her bag. X placed the tip of the crop on his shoulder and then ran it over his chest and abdomen before stopping at his belly button.

  “Do you think your superiors will be understanding if you fail your drug test?”

  X located Simeon’s penis with her crop and traced the length of its hardness.

  “If they were aware that I was forced to smoke it, yes.”

  X pulled the crop away from his body. The clicks of X’s shoes echoed through the room as she walked around to the back of the chair, making it so that Simeon could no longer see her. X reached over the chair and caressed Simeon briefly on his cheek.

  “Why did you come here, Simeon?”

  “I have my reasons. Does there need to be a reason?”

  “You asked me what I did to Compton that drives him so crazy.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think that you would have to ask Compton what it is that drives him so crazy, and even then, I’m not so sure he would be able to tell you. Every man is so different. What one man enjoys, another finds disgusting. What causes pleasure for one man causes pain to the next. Does it surprise you that a man who has the world at his feet wants to be treated like a slave?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Terry Compton is a slave—a slave to his desire,” she said, “and apparently, so are you. You see, I think that you came here because you wanted to get off. You know Compton gets off on this and you wanted to see if it would give you the same kind of thrill. Men like you, always thinking of you can get, of how the situation might benefit you. It’s pathetic. You’re no better than Compton.”

  X circled around to the front of the chair so that Simeon could see her again.

  “It’s not true,” he said.

  “You investigate Compton but secretly you admire him.”

  “No.”

  “You think you are better than he is. He makes you feel superior and covetous at the same time.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck me? Fuck you,” X said, and she bitch slapped him across the face. “Did I strike a nerve? Tell me, why did you come here? Did you think I wouldn’t hurt you?”

  X lifted up her boot and placed it on Simeon’s thigh so that its heel hovered a few fractions of an inch away from his groin. She heard him take a quick breath.

  “Did you think you’d get fucked, that a Domme just ties up a man and bangs him? It doesn’t work that way, Simeon.”

  “I knew you might hurt me.”

  “But still you came. Why? Curiosity? Masochism?”

  “I wanted to see how you do what you do.”

  “I’m going to hurt you, Simeon. Are you surprised?”

  X flicked his earlobe and then put her foot back onto the floor.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “There is violence in your nature. It hangs in the air around you like cheap perfume. Not everyone can sense it but there are people who can.”

  “What do you know about a person’s nature?”

  “At least I don’t turn away from mine, at least I don’t moralize my cruelty.”

  “Tell me the real reason why you are investigating Compton.”

  “You know what it
is. He’s involved in arms deals.”

  “That’s the reason you gave me but it’s not true, is it?”

  Simeon paused, uncertain how to answer for a moment, afraid that the woman might know something that he didn’t want her to.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He doesn’t have it in him. You are interested in him for another reason, so what is it? His charity contributions? What?”

  “Believe what you want. You don’t know anything.”

  His voice began to irritate her, so X took out a ball-gag, popped its red orb into his mouth, and secured the straps behind his head.

  “I am going to ask you some more questions and you are going to answer me by shaking your head yes or no,” she said. “Whatever questions you refuse to answer will determine the extent of your punishment. Do you understand?”

  Simeon shook his head yes. X let the tip of the crop hover above the man’s left thigh.

  “Do your superiors know that you are here?”

  He didn’t answer so X whacked him as hard as she could with the crop. She could see from his eyes that he had not expected her to ask that question. X tapped the ball-gag in his mouth and said, “Too bad you can’t say your safe word,” and it sounded like he said ‘Bitch,’ from behind his gag.

  “That’s not very nice,” she said. “Name calling is so juvenile.”

  X hit his right thigh with her crop. Then, after kneeling between his legs, X reached her hands onto the waistband of his boxers and pulled them over his hips and down to his ankles.

  “Maybe you need more of an incentive,” she said as she traced the length of his penis with her fingertips. “If you don’t answer me I’m going to hurt you in a place you don’t want to be hurt. So, one more time, do your superiors know that you are here?”

  Again, Simeon refused to answer, so X reached over to her bag and pulled out a wire cock trap which she held in front of his face. She then slipped the silver wire over his penis all the way to the base, the weave of it extending past the tip a few inches, the end of the wire gathered at a metal ring that X tugged on.

  “I bet you don’t even know what this is,” she said, and he shook his head no. “It is similar to a Chinese finger trap, but for a penis. You see,” X informed him, “the harder you pull, the more you struggle, the tighter it gets. The man who made me this chair used to like the cock trap so much,” she said, tapping at the wire ring and clip between Simeon’s legs, “that he built a ring just for it into this lovely chair.”

  X clipped the cock cage to the ring between his legs, and she could see how the wire pushed into the flesh of his organ. X stood up and lit herself another cigarette. She sat onto the arm of the couch, watching him, observing him.

  “I am going to ask you again. I don’t want you to be mistaken, I will hurt you. You deserve it. I’m going to pick a part of your body to put this cigarette out on and if you don’t answer me it’s going to be a sensitive part. So Ryan, do your superiors know that you are here?”

  Finally, he shook his head yes.

  “Good!” X exclaimed and then took another drink of wine. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

  She went back over to him, took the clips off his nipples and put them onto his soft earlobes before returning to her cigarette.

  “Now I want you to know something. Before I met you, before you cornered me into dominating Compton, I wasn’t actually cruel. I dominated men because I liked that they liked it. I liked it that they worshipped me, the way they would let me treat them however I wanted and how they would do whatever I said…but I wasn’t really cruel. I didn’t take pleasure in their pain the way I do now.”

  X walked back over to him and put out her cigarette on the tip of his shoulder, crushing its cherry onto his formerly unblemished skin. Kept mostly immobile because of the cock cage, Simeon was only able to groan behind the ball-gag and squirm a little from the pain. Now there was real fear in his eyes. It changed the architecture of his face.

  “Another question; the most important one. Am I expendable?”

  Simeon paused for a moment before shaking his head no. X whacked her crop on his penis and this time he let out a sad squeal behind his ball-gag.

  “I don’t believe you,” X said, “so I’ll ask you again. Am I expendable?” Simeon started talking from behind his ball-gag so X pulled it out of his mouth. “Answer me!”

  “You are expendable to them,” he said. “Everything is expendable to them but themselves.”

  “To them?” X said. “But not to you? Ha!”

  “You aren’t expendable to me,” he said. “I know that you aren’t going to believe me, but I never would have gotten involved in this if I thought that you would be killed when it’s all said and done.”

  X popped the gag back in his mouth.

  “I’m touched,” X said. “Really.” X took the clothespins off his ears and let them hit the floor with a clang.

  “Just out of curiosity, did they tell you to go ahead and have sex with me?”

  He started making noise again so X pulled out his ball-gag, leaving it to dangle by his chin.

  “Amnesty,” he said, and X backhanded him across the face.

  “I’ll give you amnesty when you give it to me!” X screamed. “I’m done playing games with you! Did they tell you to have sex with me? Did they say, ‘Go ahead and fuck her Simeon, we’ll have better control of her if you fuck her?’”

  He shook his head yes and cast his eyes to the floor, unable to look X in the eye.

  X bent over and whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry that I have to hurt you. Are you sorry that you have to hurt me?”

  Simeon nodded his head yes again.

  “I’m not a cruel person by nature.”

  X unsnapped the and tossed it over to the side of the room.

  “You must think I’m stupid,” she said.

  “I don’t,” he replied.

  “I guess the question is,” X said, “do you want to fuck me? Because I don’t want you to fuck me because you have to, because your boss told you to do it. That’s not a very nice thing to do to a person.”

  “I want to fuck you more than you could imagine,” he said, “but I know it will never happen.”

  “I put a cigarette out on you and you still want to fuck me? Amazing. Agent Simeon, isn’t fucking me against the rules?”

  “Sometimes the rule is to disobey the rules.”

  X laughed. “I’m going to break the rules. I’m going to do it right now.”

  X fumbled in her bag until she found what she was looking for. The woman pulled out a metal cylinder with an ‘X’ at the end, a letterpress ‘X’ that she had found a few years before at an antiques shop but had never used. Simeon watched as she went to the kitchen. The woman found a pair of metal tongs and a long lighter, the kind that is used to light candles and barbeques, and she took them out of the drawer and with her into the living room.

  As she held the bottom of the metal shaft with the tongs, X clicked on the lighter and held the flame over the ‘X’ until it began to turn fiery red.

  “Please don’t do what I think you are going to do,” he begged.

  “Why not?”

  “We aren’t supposed to have any identifying marks.”

  As the flame heated the metal ‘X’ she said, “Look, just tell them that you were walking around naked and fell on a red hot X.”

  “Please don’t,” he beseeched her. “Amnesty.”

  Once the letter was red hot, X placed it on his abdomen above his left hipbone where his gun usually sat, the woman reeling from the acetylene rush of her act, branding him on his torso with her mark, the length of his body kept still because of the cock cage.

  The pain shot through him, omni-directional and savage. Simeon grimaced with the pain, shutting his eyes together and gritting his teeth until X pulled the implement away from his body. Gingerly, X went into the kitchen where she tossed the hot letter into the sink. It sizzled as it touched a few drople
ts of water, vaporizing them.

  X went back to his chair and released his hands before unclipping the cage from the ring between his thighs. His hands now free, Simeon inspected the wound that she had inflicted. He placed his fingertips on the area surrounding the purple-red letter, the mark where his skin had been burned away, an act which had simultaneously created and cauterized the wound.

  “That’s for pistol-whipping me,” she said. “Now get dressed and go,” X told him before entering her bedroom and closing the door behind her.

  He could have hurt the woman, Simeon knew, overpowered her, kicked in her bedroom door and beaten her into a pulp. Of course, his superior wouldn’t be happy if he injured X, not if he didn’t have the permission to do so. But that wasn’t why he relented.

  As Simeon had watched her leave him, his vision of her had transformed. It was not that he viewed her now as less beautiful because of her cruelty, but on the contrary, she had gained esteem in his eyes. He saw himself then through her eyes—as no longer her equal, or her competition (for she had won this round)—but as her inferior, for when he had struck her with his gun, the deed for which she now had exacted revenge, the pain of his act had eventually dissipated. No, X had left her mark on him and it would remain forever after the pain was gone, stay after the skin had healed and scarred over, replaced by new tissue, different and inferior. The red mark would fade to white but never disappear.

  He dressed then, his clothes inflicting pain with every movement, and X listened as the door to her apartment opened and closed. Then Simeon was gone.

  Act III

  1.

  When the day came for X to accompany Compton to Paris, the Bentley came to pick her up late in the evening. X exited her building to meet the car, taking with her just a carry-on bag and a regular suitcase which the driver put into the trunk for her, the man surprised that she was not taking more along.

  “Is that all, Miss?” he asked, to which X nodded yes.

  Dusk had arrived and the full moon in the sky cast the clouds a haunted and forlorn gray. The enormous moon sat close to the horizon in the darkening sky, making the trails left from the jets just abstract etchings, barely apparent but still reflecting the moonlight.