Make Me (22 page)

Again with the blindfold, which can’t be good.

But my heart doesn’t really start galloping until I’m placed face down on a hard bench, or surface, with my arms spread. Wildly, images of Jesus on a cross flash through my mind. Inappropriate, as I’m pretty damned sure he wasn’t into BDSM.

My panties and bra are removed before my wrists and ankles are bound to the surface. At least my legs are tied together, giving me the illusion of some kind of control, of privacy. The thing that winds a thread of desire through this whole experience is knowing that underneath the fact that I have no control over what’s going to happen, I only have to say one word and it’s all over.

But if I say one word, it all ends.

I want to do this.

If Darko had made me wait a week, there’s no way I’d have gotten the article to Shawna in time. And yet, the more time I spend with Darko, the less I want to write it. All I want is to lose myself in the things he makes me feel, and waiting a week to be in another scene with him raised another kind of panic in my belly. The thought of waiting a whole week without submitting to him was awful.

Is this how adrenaline junkies start? The rush, the high, becomes addictive and they chase after it. What’s going to happen next? What will the Dom make me do? How far will I let myself go? How much further do I want to go?

Darko isn’t the Dom in this scene. He gave me the option of safeing out when I showed up at his house. But he’d said this round was going to be intense, and he meant more than just the scene itself. He’s doing this to push me, to see if I trust him not to put me in a harmful situation.

So I’m going to prove I trust him. Knowing he’s in the room watching makes this bearable, and a little sexy. It’s my first time submitting to someone else. Will it feel the same? Does it turn Darko on to see me with someone else? The thought of Darko finding this attractive makes it easier, makes it sexy. I want it to make him hard, turn him on so much that afterwards, when we are alone, he can’t keep his cock to himself.

“Have you ever heard of Edgeplay?” The strange Dom’s deep voice, warm as buttered toast on a winter’s day, coats my back even as icy fear drips through my insides. I’ve heard of it. I force myself not to squirm at the word ‘Edgeplay.’

“Yes, Sir.”

“Of course you have. But have you tried it?”

Dark adrenaline leaks into the excitement, tainting it with oily fear. “No, Sir.”

“Is it something that interests you?”

“Not really, Sir.” My honest answer is out almost before his question.

He laughs. “Your honesty is refreshing. Let’s see how you enjoy your first taste of Edgeplay.”

I hate it already.

A deep rasp, almost familiar, tickles my spine with uncertainty. What is that sound?

“Just sharpening up a few tools, love.”

Sharpening tools? What’s the scene? What’s he going to do to me? What do I remember about Edgeplay?

I blink furiously behind the blindfold, wishing I could see what he’s doing, where his hands are. Focusing on the clinical knowledge of it helps take my mind off whatever tools might be inching their way toward my skin.

There’s breathplay, like autoerotic asphyxiation, though sometimes it’s just about the control itself, not sexual. It can be a great trust builder between partners. If we’re doing breathplay, I’ll be okay. I was a swimmer in school and can hold my breath for a long time if I need to.

Something bumps my hip, and I flinch. Focus.

There’s scat and variations that involve bodily fluids. I shudder at the thought of someone smearing their bodily fluids on my body. My Dom chuckles at my fear, not knowing my thoughts, but enjoying my reaction. Truth be told, I’d rather someone smear something gross on me than do anything that requires sharpening a goddamned knife.

Am I going to be cut then? Blood play? It’s dangerous at the best of times; I’ll need to stay absolutely still for this.

Tell that to your trembling legs.

Darko won’t let him hurt me.

Something soft undulates up my back and I flinch away. The s-shaped pattern is repeated, tickling its way up and down. Then it’s brought lightly down onto my shoulder blades and across my spine. It’s uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t say it hurts. This rhythm of taps and tickles warms my back and slaps to the backs of my legs, moves up to my ass. It’s sort of relaxing.

“Just warming up your flesh, waking up the nerves. Encouraging a little blood flow.”

Damn it.

Tension claims my joints, shrinking my limbs by inches. I wish I were a hedgehog or a tortoise right now. Since transmogrification remains outside my skill-set, I ball my hands into fists and wait, trying to relax. I breathe in through my nose for eight counts, hold it for four, and breathe out for another eight.

This time, a line of sharp stinging rains down on my upper back, side to side without cease for what feels like forever. The pattern would be relaxing if not for the pain.

Pain.

This round isn’t about Edgeplay at all! He’s trying to make me think it’s about hardcore BDSM play when really it’s about enduring the pain.

Excited breaths flow from my lungs at having figured it out. Pain is nothing. This is nothing. I’ve dealt with worse, overcome worse in a place where there was no safeword, where the people hurting me wanted me to hurt and didn’t stop no matter what I said, no matter how I bled. This is easy.

All I have to do is endure.

Pride at how calm I am overcomes me. If this had been round one, I’d have screamed my safeword right away, and probably had nightmares for weeks. Now it’s nothing. I’ve come so far in no time at all.

And this time, the pain sharpens the idea of pleasure. I know after it stops, this Dom, or Darko, maybe both of them, will reward me. Wow, that’s a heady thought.

“You’re doing well.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

The silence indicates that wasn’t necessarily a compliment. The sharp crack registers before the pain bites into my ass and shakes its teeth, still lodged deep in my flesh. I groan.

“Good girl,” he replies to my muffled shrieks, and continues what he’s doing. For a while, there’s only a conversation in pain. He talks and I listen. This is the other moment I’ve begun to crave. The surrender. The sweet purity when I give away control and just exist without worry or doubt or fear. Then stillness. And then the soft hand rubbing the skin to soothe it.

He’s gone harder and longer than Darko, and my safeword floats to mind, but I hold on. The agony withdraws its talons, and my lungs uncurl and relax, remembering how to breathe. It’s been hours, years since I’ve breathed; the pain obliterating me with every hit.

I can bear it, but I don’t understand the people who are into this. I liked when Darko topped me, but that was about context. And it was about him. And he never took it further than I’d have wanted it.

He’ll make it okay. This round won’t last forever, and he will fix this and hold me and feed me cookies and talk to me in that quiet, soothing voice. He will make it better, make love to me, press these marks on my back and ass against the bed when he fucks me. I just have to hold on a little longer.

My ass throws off heat like I’ve sat on a burner. Something almost unbearably soft flows across the radiating flesh, and I arch against it, shuddering against the comfort. It’s not the Dominant’s bare hand, but it’s hand-shaped and tickles. A feather? Fur? I read about a cashmere glove, is that what it is? The soft warmth follows the dips and valleys of my back, flank, and legs, giving me a new sensation to focus on and hold on to.

I did it.

I hung on and made it through the round. A smile pulls at my lips.

The rasp of the blade in the sharpener kills my internal victory dance.

“Now for the real fun. Remind me of your safeword, Sloane.”

No. “Bunnies.” My voice cracks the first two times I try to speak.

“Good girl.”

He draws the knife? blade? down my calf, and I hate that I can’t see what he’s doing, though I’m glad of it or I’d run away. My teeth are clenched together so hard my jaw aches, but I will not scream. If I scream, my safeword might automatically come out and I can’t lose, not after coming so far.

Darko wanted this for me for a reason. There’s a lesson in this if I can only focus to find it. The cut is cold, unbearably cold like I never expected, but the burning sensation that follows makes me cry out and wish for that iciness, for that ache, anything but this acidic burn. My nerves are overloaded, but I feel the trickle of warm blood run down following gravity, dripping from my shin.

How deep did he cut me? What if I don’t safe out? Will he let me bleed to death? Will he take it to the point I’ll need stitches and a blood transfusion? No, they’d end the scene or redirect before that, I’m sure of it. Why isn’t Darko stopping him? There’s got to be a lesson, a reason.

I will not safe out.

Darko will be here to take care of me after this, no matter what. He’ll make sure I’m okay. There’s a reason he’s allowing this—there’s got to be!

The rod or cane or whatever the Dom uses returns to my upper back with a
crack
then skips to my ass, but all I can think about is the potential damage to my leg. It doesn’t hurt like it did, the adrenaline kicking in more. Lack of pain means permanent damage, doesn’t it? God, I hope it’s just adrenaline blocking the pain.

“How are you hanging in there?”

“Fine, Sir.” My voice shakes, but I grind the words out.

I’m rewarded with another cut to my leg, inches from the last one. But I can go away inside myself and get through this.

I imagine it’s not a hard surface I’m lying on, it’s Darko. The restraints on my wrists aren’t straps, they’re his hands holding me to him because he can’t let me go. It’s his chest the side of my face rests against. He won’t let anything bad happen to me. I’m safe with him.

I will persevere.

The click and a hiss of a blow torch way too close to my face infiltrates my haze. Heat and panic wash through me, dissolving the fantasy of Darko.

I can’t do this. Darko’s going to be so disappointed in me because I can’t, I
can’t
do it.

But I need to.

Tears soak the blindfold and a sob escapes my clenched jaw. I’m failing.

Heat washes over my calf. My leg will be ruined, holy shit, I can’t.

“Bunnies!”

Sloane’s safeword is the best and worst thing I’ve heard in my life.

It’s over.

Her skin glistens with a sheen of sweat despite the fact her entire body is trembling. Kristian sets the blowtorch down and unties Sloane’s hands before moving to bandage her leg. He covers his tools with a sheet while I gather her in my arms and carry her to my bedroom, setting her on the bed. Kristian knows to let himself out. I will be providing Sloane’s aftercare.

“I’ve got you, my darling.”

She shudders and leans into me. Her trembling limbs break my heart.

“Hold on,
ljubav
.”
Pull yourself together, damn it. What does she need?
I lower the lights a little and carry her to the bed where I’ve set a soft cotton dress with a backless halter, so as not to rub against her back. Food and drinks are ready, as is the table with antiseptic ointments and analgesic creams.

I shake out a couple anti-inflammatories and set them on the tray before removing her blindfold the second after Kristian leaves. Sloane blinks against the light and lurches from the bed into my arms. Her tears soak through my shirt, and I hold her while she cries. “I’m so sorry, Darko, I couldn’t do it. I tried, I hung in there for as long as I could but it wasn’t enough.” Her hands claw against my back, pressing me closer as she shudders against me, curling into my chest.

“I know.” Holding her carefully, I stroke her lower back where he didn’t touch her, trying to soothe away the fear, ground her in the here and now. “It’s okay, now. I’ve got you.” I cradle the back of her head and stroke her hair. “You’re okay,
ljubav
.” I wait for her to relax a little, but her body stays rigid, holding me too tightly. Maybe talking her down will help. “Check in. How are you physically?”

She pulls away. “Are you not hearing me? I safed-out. What’s the point of a check in? I’ve failed. You won’t want to continue our training now.”

“Aftercare is my responsibility and not something to be taken lightly. Besides, if I didn’t want you here, you’d have known immediately.” I slide my hands up and down her biceps and shoulders.

“What?”

“You were supposed to safe out, Sloane. And my God, you left it to the very last second. Any longer and I’d have had to step in myself to end things.” My heart is still in my throat.

She backs away and pulls at the bandage. “But my leg. He cut it. I might need stitches—he wrapped it, but I didn’t get a look at the damage he did. I felt the blood dripping.” She falls to the floor when she sees the tiny red line on her calf, lifting her leg for a closer inspection. “What the hell? It’s just a scratch. But it hurt so badly. I felt the blood dripping down it.” Her eyes are wide and bewildered.

Lifting her to her feet, I squeeze her into another tight embrace until her breathing slows. “There was no knife. It was a little scratch with some alcohol dripped over it to make it burn and sting convincingly. He used your fear and imagination against you to make it seem real.”

“It was all for show?”

“Let me look at your back.” I ease her robe down. Lines and red marks adorn her skin. “No, not all for show, which is why I need to take care of you.” Satisfied for the moment, I pull her robe back up.

She leans back into me and shakes her head. “I don’t get it. I’d thought that round was about pain and enduring whatever he did to me, no matter how crazy.” I tighten my arms around her when she shudders. “I thought that the talk of Edgeplay was a ruse to distract me from the real round—pain. There was certainly enough of it.”

Without breaking contact, I take her hand, moving to the table where there’s a selection of fruit, and grab a knife. I give her the anti-inflammatories and wait while she swallows them with some water, before handing her a section of pear. She glares at me, but when it becomes clear I won’t say another word until she eats it, she takes a bite.

I continue. “No. Endurance, pushing boundaries, these are good; we need to stretch our preconceived notions of ourselves if we’re to grow. Knowing your limits is more important. Honoring those limits is the most vital aspect of all. It doesn’t matter what your Dominant wants—if it is something that is going to harm you either physically or because it is way past your boundaries, then not safeing out is the worst thing you can do for both of you.”

Pear juice drips from her fingers and lands on the floor. She licks her fingertips clean. “What about for people who are into that, into pain and Edgeplay?”

“Dominants have limits too, you know. We need to safe out if the scene is going in an unhealthy direction and the submissive refuses to accept our leads, or if they take it too far for their own good.”

She holds her hand out for another slice of pear. “Like your friends. The Dom, Thomas? He made that sub wait until all her bruises had faded before being with her again.”

“Yes. Kink only works if it is safe, sane, and consensual. Risk Awareness. Letting someone take a blowtorch to you? That is insane. I don’t want a submissive who is willing to put themselves in danger to please me. Submissives need to be firm in their limits. Never mind the participants, the ramifications would be a nightmare if someone were to be disfigured, or show up at a hospital with certain obviously inflicted injuries because a sub was eager to make an impression. Dominants can be hurt emotionally too if a sub gets caught up trying to please them, takes things too far, then regrets it. Kristian never would have touched you with the torch. He’d have waited until the last possible second and then stopped.”

“He’s from The Underground?”

“Yes.”

She finishes another bite of pear. “So, the Dominants have been trained as well?”

“Yes. Dom training is even more intensive than training a submissive. A sub is only in charge of their own limits. A Dominant is responsible for everything that happens in the scene and must know when to end it even when the sub is not safeing-out. You pushed it way too close.” My shoulders will be tense for days. “Other people may have gone further and not safed out—especially during The Submission Games. They are willing to do anything to get a membership. Those are dangerous people to have around; they get themselves or others hurt. It’s not a question of if; it’s a matter of when. You honored your limits and kept the Dominant safe by not allowing them to take it too far.”

“I guess.”

“Do you know what else this round was about?”

She shakes her head. “Proving I trust you?”

“You’ve already proven to me that you trust me. This round was about trusting yourself. You did that.”

“I can’t believe it.” She winces a little as she sinks into the comfy chair by the bed—her ass had a good few marks on it as well.

I try for levity. “I know. You’re stuck with me for a little while yet. So tell me. How are you physically?”

Her hands tighten around mine. “I’m not up for anything...you know. I’m wrung out. But please just stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” After dabbing a soothing cream on her skin, I tuck Sloane into my bed, curl around her, and fall asleep an hour after she does, still holding her.