Strapped (21 page)

“Okay...some of my parameters were that they were not to touch me and we had sex whenever I wanted.”

“That’s it?”

“Well no, like I said it varied.”

“Did you live with these women?”

“Some of them lived in the guest room. As I have told you in the past, I need my space. ”

“So give me an example. A day in the life.”

“Do you really want to hear this?” I look at him sternly and nod.

“Okay...” He sighs. “So obviously many of these women had normal lives, the BDSM was a secret for many of them. What they loved about me was I had the means to let them live out their fantasy without splitting between two worlds.”

“How so?

“I could support them financially, so they could quit their jobs and then be my sub full time. That is, if they wanted to.”

“They would want that?”

“Yes. Let me put this in perspective. An outsider might only see the sexual dominance, the use of force or infliction of pain, but they are also taken care of. They submit all control. The daily stress of life, the responsibility of it all disappears. They get to relinquish it all to me, and they do it happily.”

“So if they abandoned their old lives, what did they do?”

“They lived here, under my rules. I took care of them and they submitted to all my desires.” A twinge of jealousy hits me thinking of these other women experiencing Taylor sexually.

“What were your rules?”

“In addition to what I already mentioned, they wore the clothes I provided, they made themselves available to whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, within our parameters. We went to parties too and if I said they should go to someone else, they would.”

“What? You traded them?”

“Always remember, they were in on it.”

“Would you want to trade me?”

“No! I never cared about them, they were objects to me. I know that makes me sound like a jerk, but they used me too. I would never want anyone else to have you. Seriously.”

“So did you ever have conversations? Relate like real people?”

“If I felt like it. I determined when, where, and how.”

“So you just liked humiliating them?”

“No. I liked taking care of them, taking responsibility for them. Listen, I didn’t want to mention this, because I think it might upset you, but if I don’t I’ll sound like a total monster.”

“What?”

“I took care of them in every way. I bathed them, I fed them.”

“Like a pet?” Taylor rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is just blowing my mind.”

“So I hope you have an understanding. They didn’t know me like you do. They didn’t have access to me like you do. We just fulfilled very specific needs for one another.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” The answer is quick and sharp.
Does that include me?
I am afraid to ask.

I pause for a second to digest the information. “And the book. You’re blackmailing all of these girls?”

“No, it is a tool to prevent being blackmailed by them. I would never use the information unless threatened.”

“What does it contain?”

“Purposely ambiguous notes about things only I know about them and then also records of safety deposit boxes where I hold evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Photos and videos. I also keep a detailed journal with notable encounters. To be clear, it was not for my pleasure, but I want to show them that I have every detail at hand and if I have to use it against them, I will.”

“Do you have a box for me?”

“Absolutely not, our relationship is different.”

“Why a book? Why not a computer file...it seems so, I don’t know...fetish-y and old fashioned.”

“Fetish-y?” How can he be grinning as he repeats this? “I want something I can destroy without a trace, something not hackable. The book does feel more personal versus some sort of Excel spreadsheet. If you want to call it ‘fetish-y’ I guess that is your prerogative. I thought no one would ever see it, but then I accidentally gave you the key to the room.”

“Accidentally?”

“Are you implying I planned all of this?” He smirks.

“No. Nevermind. How did you get into this?”

“Well I don’t have to remind you that I have issues with being touched and social anxiety. Once I hit puberty my hormones, my emotions, everything was raging. My father noticed my mood changes. He tried therapy, and you may not know this -- but I don’t like to talk.” The sarcastic tone in which he delivers that last sentence finally makes me smile. “Like all boys do, I started to explore the internet and magazines as a way to relieve my sexual frustrations and I discovered BDSM. I was immediately attracted to the idea of it. It was a way for me have control in these situations. I didn’t have to explain why or justify myself. When I went to college I had the freedom and the resources to explore it more in depth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do we really have to go there Shy?”

“Sorry, I am just curious about who was your first. You don’t have to answer.”

“My firsts were mostly professionals, let’s say.”

“Oh.” I take a big gulp of wine.
Keep your judgements to yourself, Shy.
“Do you know why you don’t like to be touched?”

“I have an idea.”

“Can you share?” This is something I want to be delicate about. I don’t think I need to know right now, but I do think he eventually needs to share with someone the root of his issues.

“I’ll say that things happened to me before living with my dad that will stay with me for the rest of my life.” I see pain in his face and it makes my heart ache for him.

“I wish I could make it go away.” I reach for his hand. This is the first time we have touched all night.

“You do in a way. There is something so inherently special about you. I don’t know why, but I feel a certain level of peace around you. Your touch comforts me. I wish I knew why. I wish I could tell you why that is.”

The server brings our steaks to the table along with a delicious medley of vegetables. It all looks scrumptious, but my appetite is suppressed by the seriousness of our talk.

“You called yourself a sadist. I Googled it and there were a lot of scary things that I just can’t reconcile with who you are.”

He takes a deep sigh. “I said that in the heat of the moment and I can only imagine the stuff you saw when you looked that term up. I don’t enjoy purely inflicting pain on others. I like to control my experiences with consenting people. Sometimes that involves inflicting pain, but they need to like the pain and I would never do it to someone who didn’t want it. I want them to want me to dominate them. That probably makes no sense.”

“No, it does. It’s no fun for you unless the other person wants your domination.”

His eyes almost light up. “Precisely. I take no pleasure in forcing people to do sexual acts against their will. Ever.”

“So...where does this leave us?” I ask.

“What do you mean? I thought you were here to determine that. I don’t need anything to change.”

“I mean, do you want to do BDSM with me?” My stomach knots as I pose the question. I feel like a nervous schoolgirl asking a boy to prom. I find myself almost wanting him to say yes and I don’t understand why.

“The more important question is do you want to?” He leans forward. “Know this. Whatever you say is okay with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.”

It’s just that: he will do whatever it takes. He will sacrifice that entire side of him. I know that will not work in the long run. I don’t want him to resent me one day, but I am not ready to give an answer.

“What’s in the room behind the closet?”

Taylor grins, a piece of steak bulging in his cheek. As he finishes chewing, the worst possibilities run through my head: a medieval torture chamber, a freezer full of bodies, some weird shrine to his submissives.

“The darkroom,” he says in a playful voice with a devilish grin.

“Darkroom?”

“Yes, it’s where I keep all of my toys and where I used take my subs.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t been there in a while. Not since I met you.”

“Why is that?”

“I wasn’t seeing anyone and then you came along and I lost interest in pursuing anyone else. Would you like me to show it to you?”

Of course I would! I play it very cool. “Sure.”

I finally force myself to taste my dinner. The first bite opens up my appetite and I polish off half of the steak.

We share a dessert, sitting much closer to one another than we were earlier in the night. I can’t stay away from this man. His mood has gotten much lighter and I think it’s because this is the first time he has felt the relief of getting something off of his chest. He has cocooned himself in secrets, wealth, and rituals and has never known the liberating power of a simple act of confession. The dim light hits his face in a way that highlights his beautiful bone structure and piercing eyes. I lean my head against his chest. It is warm and firm. All I know for certain is he is kind and generous to me. He wants me and I still can’t believe it. Then the words just come out of my mouth, from a place deep within. It does not filter through my brain, as I know what I am saying goes against any sort of sense.

“Yes, Taylor.”

He looks at me, somewhat puzzled.

“You asked me if I want to try. The answer is yes.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want you to do this for me.”

“Yes, I am. You know I would never do something I don’t want to do. The thing is, you’ve opened up a new world to me. I didn’t know I would like working at H.I. until you recruited me. I didn’t think I would like racing, or wine, or meeting someone at a hotel room at noon, but I do. You’ve shown me things I didn’t know I was missing. My life was so mundane before you came along. But I don’t want to be like those women. I need to have responsibility and independence too.”

He smiles. I can sense his relief. I think he finally understands that I get it. “Will you come home with me tonight? I missed you last night. I can show you the darkroom.”

“I always wanted a darkroom growing up. For photography, that is.” I say looking up at his face as I sink into his chest.

“I’ll make sure you’ll want for nothing.”

“But what about…”

“I think the meds work, but I can’t be sure unless you sleep with me again. I’ll understand if you don’t want to. I can stay in the guestroom.”

“No, I don’t want to sleep in separate rooms. We need to work on this together.”

He kisses me on the forehead and we head back to his glass castle.

We sit in the back of the car and I lay my head in Taylor’s lap as we sing along to songs on the radio. He looks especially jubilant on this night.

“So, you want to check out the room tonight?”

“Yes. I just want to look if that’s okay. I am not sure if I am ready to delve into anything.”

“No problem at all.” He runs his index finger over my lips and I pretend to chomp at it. “Are you sure you only want to be on the receiving end? It looks like you have a mean streak in you.”

The thought had not occurred to me that I could be a dom. “You mean you would be my sub?”

“I don’t know. I never have, it would be as foreign to me as it is to you. I honestly don’t know how I would feel about that. The thought has never crossed my mind as it was never a possibility before. No one has ever had any control or leverage over me since I reached adulthood. It goes against my instincts.” I don’t try to push the conversation further because I don’t have a genuine interest in taking a leadership role in this particular endeavor.

Once we arrive to the house, we bid Harrison goodnight and head to the bedroom. I watch Taylor take off his clothes, the definition of his muscles glowing in the pale bedroom lighting. When he pulls his shirt overhead, it rustles his hair, making him look rugged. He catches me staring and gives me a smile.

“Taylor, you are a dream.”

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.”