Strapped Down Read online

  “He was very open. It was weird, I guess because it took so long for me to get to know you and he’s an open book.”

  “I suppose, but he’s smart too. He only discloses what he feels he must.”

  “He asked me if I loved you.”

  “Really? Fucking Randall.” He shakes his head.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No it’s not. It’s incredibly intrusive. What did you tell him?”

  “What was I supposed to say? I told him the truth.”

  “That you hate me?” He says jokingly.

  “Oh shut it.”

  “And what did he say?”

  I wonder if I should tell him about the warnings his father gave me, but I don’t want to start a tiff between them. Taylor and I have a special relationship, and in a way that conversation with his father felt like an anonymous support group for Taylor lovers. To reveal too much would be to betray that kinship. I soften the message.

  “He just wanted me to be careful with your heart. I think he’s nervous about our pasts catching up to us somehow.”

  “Ugh. You’d think I was a 16 year old girl going to prom, the way he speaks about me. Just ignore him, he’s being dramatic.” I guess I know where Eric gets his flair for drama. “Does he think dead cult members are going to come out from the grave and find us?”

  “He told me he had reservations about my past, that at first his hunch was I was after your money, but that he understands my position now.”

  “Ugh, you two did cover a lot. You two probably talked about more stuff than my father and I cover in a year.”

  “He’s very open; direct.”

  “Yup. I have full faith in your ability to hold your own, but like I told you, he’s a force.”

  “Except when it comes to you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, just that you’re you, you know? Impenetrable. It seems as though he feels he’s walked on eggshells with you because he is afraid to lose you again.”

  Taylor nods his head. “So, I want to take you somewhere tonight. Somewhere special,” he whispers.

  “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise. Come, I have something for you.” He leads me to the bedroom and asks me to have a seat. On the dresser is a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. He pours us both a glass and sits next to me.

  “So…what’s next?”

  “Have a couple of glasses. I need you to be relaxed.”

  “You’re trying to get me drunk?”

  “No. Just a little loose.”

  “Okay…” I say suspiciously. Eager to get on with the night, I down the glass. “Gimme another,” I demand.

  “Let the record show you are drinking at this pace on your own free will,” Taylor says as he fills my flute. “I’ll be right back.”

  Taylor digs into one of his larger bags and pulls out a box. “I want you to wear this tonight. It’s required attire.”

  I curiously cock my head as I walk over to the box resting on the bed. With my available hand, I lift off the lid. Inside is a strapless leather bustier, a feather masquerade mask, tall boots, a garter, and some other accessories I can’t yet make out.

  “What’s all this?” I ask in disbelief.

  “It has to do with the surprise.”

  “Taylor, we are at your dad’s house!”

  “He’s already asleep, so is Nan. Plus, I made sure you packed your trench, didn’t I?”

  “You did…I honestly have no idea what this is all about.”

  “I know, that’s the fun part.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “What did you tell me? The other night in the gun range?”

  “Harder?”

  “Well, the other thing.”

  “That I’m yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t have you fighting me on everything. I’ve trusted you by opening up to you, bringing you home, now you have to reciprocate. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course, but…”

  “It’s a simple yes or no.”

  “Yes.”

  “I promise you will not forget this night.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say as I pour myself another glass and chug it. After placing the empty glass on the dresser, I know now is the time to take the leap. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Taylor as I carry the box and its contents into the en suite bathroom. The first thing I pull out of the box is the bustier, which is thick and structured. After examining it for a bit, I realize I will likely need his help tightening the corset, so I place it back in the box and put on the other items. A black crotchless pair of panties goes on first, followed by a pair of fishnet thigh-highs attached to a garter. There is also a tight leather mini skirt, and when I say mini, I think it came from the cow’s ankle or something. It zips up like a glove. Finally, I zip up the boots. Besides the mask and bustier, there is one thing left to add to the wardrobe: a choker. At first I thought it might be a decorative cuff, but it is far too big for my wrists. It buckles like a belt, and on the front side is a metal ring, I can only think of one purpose for this attachment. It worries and excites me all at once.

  I stare at myself in the mirror, admiring my topless figure clad in shiny leather. Makeup and hair must be done to match the severity of the heavy materials and metal. Out of my makeup bag comes a blood-red lipstick and blush (much like the color of the darkroom) and some smokey eyeshadow. I finish off the look, with thick black eyeliner and heavy mascara. Finally, I slick my hair back into a side-parted, low ponytail. Who is this dark, dangerous woman staring back at me in the mirror?

  Once I feel brave enough to ask Taylor to strap me into the top, I take a deep sigh and slowly open the bathroom door. He’s looking through his luggage before he turns and sees me standing there, holding the corset over my chest. He’s seen my breasts more times that I can count, but tonight feels new.

  His eyes brows arch.“Wow.”

  “I was wondering if you could help me put my top on…” His father said I was bold. He doesn’t know that his son turns me into a meek little girl.

  “Of course.” He blows air on his hands and rubs them together before softly sliding my ponytail over my shoulder. After I secure the top on my torso, he begins the tighten the cross-section of straps, starting from the very bottom and working his way up. We don’t say a word, the only sound in the room is of our breath, inhaling and exhaling in unison. I trust Taylor, but that doesn’t make the unknown any less nerve wracking. “Is that tight enough?” He asks.

  “Yes. I think so, I’ve never worn one of these before. My oxygen consumption is limited to the baseline amount I need to survive, so I think that’s about right.” I turn to face him.

  “You look incredible,” he says, kissing me on the neck. Goosebumps raise on my arms and my nipples harden. One look down below shows me I’m not the only one with an erect body part.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says softly, disappearing into the bathroom. I grab the bottle and pour the remainder of the champagne into my glass. I think the only thing keeping me sane is the liquid courage Taylor has so cleverly provided. Ten or so minutes later, he emerges from the restroom, wearing a fitted black suit, with a crisp white shirt, the first few buttons undone, his hair slicked back. He hasn’t shaven in a couple of days, revealing the perfect amount of stubble against his still-tanned skin. He looks simply perfect, but I was expecting more of a Village People look to match my attire.

  “You look surprisingly normal considering the outfit you chose for me.”

  “I wouldn’t look as good in that as you do,” he says, generously revealing that crooked grin of his.

  “What’s with the mask?” I ask.

  “It’s optional, but I think you’ll want to wear it. I’ll have one too,” he says patting his chest pocket. I’m not a complete idiot, I have an idea of where we are headed, but it’s only an idea in the vaguest sense.

  “Are you sure your dad is asleep?”
/>   “I promise you he is. It’s way past his bedtime.”

  As Taylor leads me outside the door, I try to make as little noise as possible, but it’s nearly impossible with the five-inch platform boots I am wearing.

  “We’re taking one of my dad’s cars,” he says before leading me to the garage. This one is modest compared to Taylor’s, holding just five cars. He opens the passenger door to a black Rolls Royce and guides me in.

  “It feels like we’re stealing his car,” I whisper.

  “That’s because we are,” he says as he pulls out.

  “You have like fifty cars and you steal your dad’s?”

  “It’s always more satisfying,” he says with a wink.

  “So are you going to give me any hints?”

  Taylor squints as he debates to himself whether or not to tell me anything. “Where we’re going, it’s not too far from my father’s so I thought this would be the perfect time to introduce you. I haven’t visited since I met you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I think you’ll understand when we arrive.” He turns up the volume on a song he plays through his iPhone.

  “That song is so familiar. You played it in the darkroom once, really loud. I couldn’t hear anything but that song. What’s it called?”

  “The Ruiner.”

  Taylor pulls into a long driveway, driving for a few seconds until we approach a large wrought-iron gate. He rolls down the window and presses the button on the intercom.

  “1021 Red,” he says.

  There is a five-second lag, and then the gate slowly opens. What the hell was that?

  “My stomach is in knots. I’m so nervous.”

  “Don’t be,” he says, stroking my head. We pull up to a large brick mansion with a circular driveway. “Masks,” he says, pulling out a black eye covering, his eyes contrasting sharply to its darkness. Mine is black as well, but more bird-like in shape, like a raven.

  A young man steps to the passenger side of the car, and helps me out. Taylor tosses him the keys and he drives out of sight.

  “So are you going to tell me now?” I whisper, holding his hand so tight, I might break it.

  “Just relax, let the night take us where it will. I just want to show you some things.” In other words, no.

  As we walk towards the front door, it opens in our presence. A rather large man in a black suit is behind the door. Behind us, the door shuts almost instantly followed by the sound of locks securing.

  The house is old, but lavish and well maintained. The bannisters are intricately carved, dark-colored tapestries adorn the walls. Expensive-looking sculptures encased in glass sit atop wooden platforms, built-in cabinets display ornately decorated china.

  “Red, you handsome devil. It’s been too long!” A woman who appears to look amazing for her forties greets us. She is not wearing a mask. Her hair is fire-red, pin-straight and long. She too is wearing all black: a low cut latex tank, matching black pants, and platform ankle boots.

  “Yes, circumstances have changed a bit.”

  She looks over to me. “And who’s this pretty little thing? Is she yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mmmm…”she licks her lips, looking at me like a piece of freshly grilled steak.

  “This one won’t be shared.” Shared?

  “I think she’s nervous, Red,” the woman says to Taylor. “Is this her first time in a place like this?”

  I want to say something, but it’s as if I am invisible.

  Taylor nods.

  “Well, if you two need some company, let me know,” she winks. Back off bitch. “Philipe, get these two some drinks.” Seconds later, a young man, in a leather vest, full mask, and teeny-tiny shorts brings a tray with drinks. I grab them for the both of us.

  “He’s mine,” the woman says to me with a smirk.

  “I’m going to give her a tour,” Taylor says.

  “Yes, it’s a good night. Some very interesting members are here.”

  Taylor guides me up the left of the two matching staircases to the second level. When no one is within earshot I whisper to him: “Is this some sort of sex club?”

  “Yes. A high-end one, only the very wealthy and thoroughly vetted can join.”

  “Oh my god.” I cringe. I don’t know what to do with myself.

  “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanted to show you around, and show you off.” He grabs my ass and I jump. “Just remember, no matter what you see, that everyone here wants to be here.”

  “Okay,” I gulp. “I just feel so out of place.”

  “Look at you. You fit right in.”

  “Who’s the woman?”

  “That’s Lane. She’s the owner.”

  “She is interesting.”

  “I’ve known her for years. She does a great job with this club.”

  “I guess. Have you—?”

  Taylor looks away, hiding a smirk. “Shy, this is a BDSM club and she is not only the president, she’s also a member.”

  I can’t help but smile at the comment, but deep inside I feel the heat rising. This woman just paraded around like she owned the place (yes, I know she does) and then talks over me like I’m just some two-bit sub. I’m not just some sub bitch, I am his love. You were just two flaps of meat he could stick it in and slap around.

  “Well, I don’t like her,” I whisper.

  “Shhh…it’s not about her,” he says. Just then, a man completely covered from head to toe in black walks by holding a leash. A pretty, long-legged blonde with a ball gag in her mouth is on the other end. She tries to eye Taylor, but her Master gives her a good tug when he spots this, and she stumbles to catch up.

  “Is she going to get in trouble for that?”

  “It’s up to him. Come on, we can’t just stand here forever. You’re going to stop asking questions and I’ll tell you what to do.”

  As I follow Taylor, the sounds of moaning, flesh slapping against flesh, and whipping permeate the dark corridor. I am submerged in anxiety, which only makes me more bound to Taylor because he is the only familiar thing right now. Finally, he stops at a door and opens it. My hand begins to tingle, and I realize this is because of how hard I am clenching his.

  A fireplace provides the only light in this room, and in front of it is woman with short spiky hair, her breasts exposed a top a corset, her bottom completely bare. She is being penetrated by a man from behind who is holding her leash while she sucks off another guy.

  Her hands are tied behind her back.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There are others standing against a wall, forming a gallery of sorts. They all wear masks, each one different, some covering more facial features than others. All are wearing dark clothing, some, like Taylor, are wearing street wear, but others are wearing the velvet, leather and latex I expect to see in an establishment such as this one. The woman at the center of the show is in complete surrender, the two men owning her body. I look at the dark figures around me, immersed in the live show before them. Who are these people? For Lane to have a mansion of this size and a staff, she must have many high-end clients. Are they hiding in plain sight like Taylor? The men in front of me could be soccer dads, politicians, or high-priced attorneys. I am officially occupying a secret underworld very few even know about.

  I avert my eyes from the spectacle in front of me, it feels so intrusive, watching this woman at her most vulnerable. Do these men even care about her or she just an object to them? I find myself judging the people in the room, but then the cold hard truth slaps me: Taylor is one of these men. I imagine Lane in the center, sucking Taylor off, and I slowly boil. I may be his, but he is mine as well. I clear the thought out of my head before it can escalate any further, again trying to focus on the woman’s eyes to see if she is enjoying this. How can I truly determine if she is enjoying herself when pain and degradation are her turn-ons?

  I pity her, but at the same time there is a thrill inside of me. At her most vulnerable, she is the cent
er of desire for these men. They all want her, they all share a connection, in a way. Even though she is submitting, her sexuality is powerful. Taylor is one of these men. I look over to him, his eyes are narrow and focused. He is turned on. Why is it that he brought me here? Does he want me to become just like her? It’s not something I could do. I can’t submit to a man other than Taylor. If this is what pleases him the most, I am not sure I can provide that.

  That bitch Lane probably did everything he ever wanted and would do it at this moment if he asked. Images of him inside of her aggressively flash in my mind and now I cannot get rid of them. My hands begin to shake, I am the angriest I have ever been at Taylor and yet I can’t quite articulate why. It’s not that he brought me here, it’s that he’s shared these intimate moments that I don’t think I am capable of with other women. I have been jealous before from ideas of what he has done, but here it is in front of me. The life he had, the 35 women he has likely brought here and shared or fucked is something I can’t compete with.

  His hand begins to creep up the back of my skirt and before it can lead to anything, I storm out of the room, slamming the door on Taylor as I run. “Shy? Shy, what’s going on?” He says trailing behind me down the dimly lit hallway.

  I don’t answer, I just run faster in these godforsaken boots past closed old wooden doors, the sounds of kinky sex filling my ears. The smell of it fills my nose. He grabs my arm. “Let go!” I shout. I am a very shitty submissive. A couple of people in the vicinity look at us, and he hesitantly slides his hand off of my arm. As I run through the foyer to exit, I pass Lane.

  “What’s wrong lil’ girl?” She asks.

  “Fuck off,” I say, pushing my way past the doorman and stepping outside into the damp autumn air.

  Taylor walks behind me, but keeps his distance. Out of my periphery I see him gesture to Lane to indicate he has this under control, which makes me fume even more. After taking a few steps away down the driveway I realize I have no jacket, no car, no where to go, but I am too stubborn to stop, so I just walk along the property. When we are out of sight, Taylor utters the first words since he grabbed my arm.