Sweet and Dirty

by Christina Crooks

  He’d looked at her with approval when she’d appeared in a low-cut raw silk evening gown and strappy high heels. She’d decided to wear her hair down, and she enjoyed the feel of it whispering against her back as they followed Little Peter’s directions to the vaulted great room and its adjacent dining room. She wanted to pause and examine the ceramic and painted wood masks hanging on the hallway’s walls, and the framed erotic photos too, but Ryan urged her forward with a warm hand on her elbow.

  Good thing she wore heels so frequently at work, she thought with a twinge of annoyance as Ryan rushed her. Her feet would be aching otherwise. The Sultan Room evidently claimed one of the farthest spots from the center of the home.

  When they arrived, she forgot all about her feet. She made a small sound of admiration at the double-sided fireplace in the center of the room, not to mention the grand piano perched on a carpet on one corner, the movie theater–sized television against the wall, or the exquisite yet entirely comfortable seating groups scattered everywhere. One group of three people conversed over by the piano, much too far away to hear.

  Who were they, and could any of them boast an intimate relationship with Sylvester? Not that it mattered. She was an engaged woman, she reminded herself.

  The scent of good food and freshly baked bread wafted to her.

  She spotted a pool table, and two game tables. There were even chaise lounges just begging for people to stretch out with a good book, positioned under lamps with Tiffany glass and Craftsman details. Soaring ceilings bisected by enormous beams from which descended half a dozen lazily rotating ceiling fans. Colors were neutral, with jewel-tone accents. A chef’s kitchen that looked torn from the pages of a home-improvement magazine was clearly visible at the far end.

  “Wow,” she breathed, taken a little aback. For a lair of sexual deviants, the place struck her as amazingly tasteful. And comfortable. Weren’t there supposed to be manacles attached to rock walls, people running around in leather masks, things like that?

  As if in answer to her unspoken questions, an authoritative thud of boot heel drummed against the floors, and a woman strolled up to them. Nora couldn’t help staring. If Ryan sneered at this woman, Nora would kick him. If the woman didn’t first.

  A red rubber mask covered her hair and the top of her face, leaving exposed her wide, red-lipsticked smile. A long, dark braid of hair lay against her bare back. Her clothes were outrageous, from the leather cutout bra notable for the rouged nipples emerging like offered candy, to the cream-colored rope dress that began at her muscular ebony neck and ended just above her tall, metal-studded boots.

  Ryan, for once, seemed completely silenced.

  “I’m White.” The woman offered a long-taloned hand to Nora.

  Nora shook it, unable to control her glance at the woman’s deep brown skin.

  “My name,” the woman laughed. “White. Purity of heart. Absence of darkness. Black is over there.” She indicated a pale woman leaning over the breakfast bar and into the open kitchen. A narrow blond braid trailed from under her white hood and half mask. Her backside, high and firm like a boy’s, was packed neatly into a shiny black latex skirt. Black’s choice of boot mirrored White’s, tall and metal studded. Delicate silver chains encircled her back, leaving the front to Nora’s imagination. “Wickedness of heart. Glory in darkness. And you?”

  “Gray, I suppose.” Nora remembered her recent fantasy, felt a flush of shame. “Dark gray, maybe.”

  “Your name, silly. What’s your name?”

  “Her name is Nora. I’m Ryan. Pleased to meet you.” Ryan shook her hand briskly, eyeing her gumdrop-red nipples.

  “Hungry?” White’s eyes twinkled.

  “Uh…”

  “Dinner’s about to be served. If you’ll follow me.” Without waiting for a reply, she preceded them into the dining room.

  With its vaulted ceiling, potted plants, and two gilt-framed leaded windows with a view of lush ferns and maple trees, the elegant dining room was fit for royalty. An intriguing piece of art hung from a beam near one end of the table: what looked like a curled-up human form encased in a stretchy translucent pink material.

  All of it was merely a backdrop to the people already seated at the table.

  Her gaze darted to Sylvester, then away.

  “Sit where you wish,” said White. She circled the table to place herself on one side of a man who smiled a welcome to them both. Black had already claimed the seat on his opposite side.

  He patted both Black and White on their masked heads.

  Nora felt Sylvester’s presence so strongly, it was as if the very air vibrated around him. She knew where he sat—at the head of the table, of course—knew he watched her, but couldn’t yet bring herself to look at him.

  She sat at the middle of the rectangular table, and was glad for Ryan’s presence when he sat next to her. Now, if Ryan could be trusted not to be rude to these people, and if these people could be trusted not to act like freaks and weirdos, she might be able to relax. Maybe even enjoy dinner. She appreciated the good food smells wafting from dishes being served by Little Peter and a female service submissive, who glanced at Nora with a shy smile when setting a silver-encircled china plate on the lace placemat before her.

  “That’s Kitten and Little Peter,” the man across from her said. “You’ve met my Black and White, I gather?”

  Before she could answer, a lovely woman appeared in the doorway and simply stood there for a long moment. Her long, sleeveless black velvet evening gown clung to her curvy body in just the right places, and her upswept auburn hair and luminous pale skin seemed just another work of art lit by the window’s green twilight and the room’s soft lighting. Until she snapped her fingers, and both Kitten and Little Peter abandoned serving duty to prostrate themselves before her.

  “Mistress Kiana,” the man across from Nora protested. “Really. They were serving dinner.”

  For her part, Mistress Kiana looked at the service subs at her feet. “Rise. Speak.”

  Immediately Kitten said, “I’m sorry for not immediately attending to you, Mistress Kiana.” Little Peter belatedly added, “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Tsk, tsk. Kitten, fetch a rubber gag. The one shaped like a penis,” she called after the scurrying sub.

  Only then did she address the man across from Nora. “Master Andre, you’re aware this one”—she gave a hand gesture to Little Peter, who knelt—“is still in training. After I spent so many hours cooking this meal with only minimal assistance from Kitten, I don’t intend to suffer the slightest disrespect from either of them. This correction will only take a moment.”

  Kitten reappeared holding a length of leather, with a fat, stubby rubber likeness of a penis jutting from the middle.

  “Insert it into Little Peter’s mouth,” Mistress Kiana commanded. “Buckle it closed.”

  Kitten did.

  “Very good. Little Peter, as a service submissive, your only goal in life is to give good service. That includes being aware at all times where your owner is, and addressing her properly. Do you understand how you failed me?”

  Little Peter nodded, hunched his shoulders pathetically.

  “Good. Now, get on with serving; you’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time.”

  Nora watched as everyone was served, chatting amiably as if nothing had happened and there wasn’t a full-grown man with a penis gag in his mouth placing food before them.

  She swallowed, hoping she didn’t offend someone and get a gag stuffed into her mouth too. Her appetite fled.

  Sylvester spoke softly with Mistress Kiana for a short time, making Nora wonder if they were a pair. She felt an odd sense of loss at the thought. In fact, she felt odd in general. Shy. She managed to speak briefly about her job. People seemed interested enough when she discussed the ups and downs of travel marketing. Slowly, when nothing else bad happened, the excellent food seduced her appetite into returning.

  The courses pleased her enormously. Mistress Kiana was an
accomplished cook. The woman barely glanced at the man she’d gagged.

  Nora wasn’t at all certain about the protocol of things, here. When not serving, the service submissives knelt in opposite corners, attentive, occasionally rising to fill water glasses or remove plates.

  Ryan radiated tension, she suddenly noticed. Clearly he was even more uncomfortable than she was.

  It was too quiet. But if she spoke up too often, or complimented the intimidating chef, might she get a gag put in her mouth?

  Nora snorted, tired of feeling afraid. She decided to chance it: “Mistress Kiana, may I compliment you on an exceptional meal?”

  “Certainly.” The woman smiled at her, and it transformed her face into something much more accessible. “Thank you. Cooking is my second-favorite hobby.”

  “Her first favorite is ‘beating the bottom.’ Little Peter is in for it later.” Master Andre grinned. “Maybe Kitten, too, if Mage is still being antisocial.”

  Sylvester spoke to Nora directly, explaining. “Mage lives here part of the year. He often has Kitten bring him a late dinner up in his Painloft.”

  “Antisocial.” Master Andre repeated. He offered Nora a small smile. “More fun for us having Kitten all to ourselves. Perhaps as a toy for Black and White. What do you say, Kitten?”

  Kitten started to nod eagerly, then checked herself and looked to Mistress Kiana. “If it pleases you, Mistress Kiana?”

  “I’ll be busy attending to Little Peter’s punishment,” the dominatrix agreed. “A caning, I think. Leave him something lasting to remind him of his disobedience.” She frowned slightly, rubbed her temples. “And then perhaps a long, soothing massage.”

  Ryan put down his wineglass and spoke too loudly. “Isn’t that a bit excessive for the crime? The poor guy’s already wearing a dick in his mouth.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Ryan.

  “We haven’t gotten to know our newest guests yet.” Sylvester’s voice rolled across the room, compelling. “I’ve explained my role as dungeon monitor and general consultant, in the welcome brochure. Perhaps you have questions.”

  Nora frowned. “I didn’t see any—”

  “Yes, you explained everything,” Ryan interrupted. “When does the role playing start?”

  Sylvester stared at Ryan. “I’m not sure you do understand. And why such a hurry? The activities on your play checklist don’t even involve role play. Unlike Nora’s.”

  She could suddenly smell the nervous sweat coming off Ryan. Why was he afraid? And what was this checklist they were talking about? “Ryan, what’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me about…hey!” she slapped his hand away as he pawed at her face.

  He tried again to stuff his wadded-up linen napkin in her mouth. “You’ve been bad, very bad. Your goal was to give good service, and, uh, you didn’t. You’ve failed me.” Though his mimicking words were ludicrous, the look in his eyes as he tried again to force her mouth full of napkin reflected some strong emotion. She smelled the alcohol on his breath. “You’ve failed me,” he moaned.

  She didn’t understand his pain, but she did understand he was trying to gag her. “Ryan, stop it!”

  “Stop.”

  Ryan did, panting. He glanced at Sylvester, who’d risen.

  Sylvester enunciated clearly. His eyes shot sparks. “In BDSM fetish circles—Bondage, Domination, Sadism, Masochism—we have a creed we follow. Everything we do must be safe, sane, and consensual. Consensual. That did not look consensual.”

  “No, it didn’t.” Master Andre stared coldly at Ryan.

  “No,” Mistress Kiana agreed. She looked at Ryan as if he were a bug.

  “We should leave.” Ryan stood.

  “Wait.” Nora remained seated. “Why did you just do that? What is the checklist you were talking about?”

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you.” Ryan began to stalk away.

  “Black, White? Fetch.” Master Andre smiled as his companions moved swiftly after Ryan. Nora watched, too surprised to move, as White headed Ryan off, then tripped him, even as Black pinned his arms behind his back as he stumbled and sank to his knees. They dragged him back, struggling and cursing, but when Black sat on him with his arms held firmly he subsided. He couldn’t see White behind him shaking her head, a slow gesture of amazement. The woman left the room, then returned with steel manacles, which she quickly snapped onto his wrists.

  “Un-freakin’-believable,” said Little Peter, before he remembered himself. “Sorry, Mistress Kiana.”

  “Understandable,” she murmured.

  Nora sat rooted in her seat, staring at her fiancé. His arms were twisted back behind him, the wrists overlapping each other and fastened securely with handcuffs that didn’t have any give at all. He struggled to his feet…then sat down heavily in the nearest chair. “That didn’t work out quite the way I’d planned.”

  “What the hell is going on!” Now that everyone else sat motionless and silent, Nora felt her own fury build. “Explain what this is about!”

  The crinkle of paper sounded loud in the silence. Sylvester unfolded it, brought it to her. “This isn’t yours, I take it.”

  She scanned the stapled pages, then slowed and actually read some of it. “This has my old knee injury on it? How did you get my medical records? A BDSM Play Partner Checklist? Anal plugs? Golden showers? Electric torture?” She saw something that made her go faint with shock. “Chase and Capture rape fantasy?”

  3

  She stared at Ryan. “This was your idea. You made this list up for me. After I told you about my fantasy.”

  “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “A dozen red roses is a surprise. A long, romantic weekend at a bed-and-breakfast is a surprise. Rape isn’t a goddamn surprise. It’s assault. Were you going to do the honors yourself?”

  “You think I don’t know you’re a million miles away when we do it, in your spare scraps of time?” Ryan screamed at her. “Off in fantasyland. Who can compete with that?”

  “Whoa.” Her world felt as if it were tilting sideways. “It was never supposed to be a competition. Hey…Please excuse me, I need some air,” she told everyone as she stood and walked unsteadily from the room. She walked blindly, only by luck ending up by the back upper deck. Sliding the glass door to the right, she stepped through onto the wooden planks and let the cool twilight air caress her.

  Her heart hurt. Another part of her felt vindicated by the justification of certain suspicions. Ryan’s competitiveness, Ryan’s secretiveness, Ryan’s easily bruised ego…He hated her long hours, and her success. The problem was obvious, in retrospect.

  She heard the door slide open behind her. Ryan stepped through. She saw the others slowly gather just inside the doorway, silent. Curious. She could hardly blame them.

  Ryan tried to shrug, but his pinned wrists made the gesture awkward. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I probably wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

  “Probably. Great.”

  “It’s just that, you know, you’re this ice queen.”

  She started. Ice queen? Her?

  “You have this fabulous vacation-marketing job where you get to fantasy-travel to all corners of the world. You have this bold attitude, living life on your own terms instead of settling down and raising two kids in a suburb like all your friends. You want adventures, new experiences, despite your crazy hours at work. And now, you’re going to be vice president of the company and make shitloads of money…and I never see you anymore. What am I, next to all that? An aging has-been of a race-car driver who can’t even make you come.”

  She made a small sound of demurral, but he was continuing. “So I just figured if you got taken down a notch or two, you might realize I’m better than fantasyland. You might actually, you know. Appreciate me. Love me.”

  “I said yes to you, didn’t I?” She held up her left hand, ring on display.

  “I should take it back. I don’t deserve you.”

  She yanked it of
f, in full agreement. What he’d said had turned her stomach. “No. You don’t.” And yet, her heart ached seeing the lost, agonized look when she handed him back the ring.

  “Ryan, you signed me up for rape,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes. I’m sorry for that now.”

  This conversation was insane. “Sorry for it? Enough to maybe take one for the team yourself? Huh?”

  He looked at her steadily. “If that’s what it takes.”

  She threw up her hands. “Oh my god, we’re both crazy. You know what? It wouldn’t be enough now.”

  “Anything you ask. Anything on that sheet. I’m so fucking sorry, I’ll do anything. Put me under a golden shower. Lock me in a cell. Whip me till I’m bloody.”

  “Asphyxiation!” called out Black.

  “Pony play!” called out White.

  “Anal fisting!” called out Kitten.

  Everyone looked at Kitten. “What? It’s on the list.”

  “Do you wish to make amends to Nora?” Sylvester stepped forward, alongside Black and White. The others fell silent. “Do you wish to put yourself, as the lowest of slaves, into the hands of these two switches? Assuming Master Andre has no objection,” he added.

  Master Andre shook his head. “They’ve been bottoming too much lately anyway, wearing me out. Let them top for a change.” He grinned at Ryan. “Oh, they have plenty of nasty tricks. I should know; they learned them from me.”

  “Ryan, it must be consensual. You have to negotiate your limits with those whom you play, but considering what you did I’d seriously consider agreeing to remove any and all limits. However, a safe word is mandatory. Say it, and all play stops. Safe words are respected here. Choose one now, in my presence. Any word.”

  “‘Nora’ is my safe word. And I agree, no limits.”

  Sylvester’s lip quirked down on one side. The hint of contempt was the only emotion he’d shown. “Heard and witnessed. For the next three days and nights, Ryan is everyone’s property and may be punished by anyone present, at any time, in any way they wish. Three days from now, Nora will decide if his penitence is sufficient reason to take him back.” He nodded to Black and White.