Saving Sunni (10 page)

The passes that Sir was making with the knife were getting closer and closer. I could see that quite a crowd was forming around us, and whenever I felt alarmed, I forced myself to scan the crowd for the face I’d seen earlier.

I never did see it again. Sir dipped the huge blade closer and closer, occasionally catching a piece of the plastic wrap with the tip in a movement that seemed much too fast to be safe. The plastic made a very satisfying ripping sound, but only a tiny piece actually came loose—not enough for me to even feel. He was very theatrical, and I knew it was making a good show. I pretended to be terrified, screaming occasionally, although not too much for fear of accidentally setting off my panic. He swung the knife up and down the length of my body, occasionally holding it against my throat and tracing a white-hot line, making some of the women in the audience gasp. It was hard for me not to smile when he ran the blade across my skin; that was actually the safest part of the play, and I knew he was doing it mostly to calm me down.

Little by little the plastic was shredded, being pulled up in sections by the tip of the machete. He occasionally dragged it along my stomach and down to my groin, pressing just hard enough to cut the top layer of plastic, never enough to get through to skin. Most of the people in the room were standing around watching now, and I had no hope of spotting the face that had surprised me earlier. I felt much better anyway, knowing the plastic would soon be loose enough for me to move my arms and breathe normally. I relaxed into the scene completely, loving the way the cold metal occasionally came to rest against an exposed piece of skin, or how the blade traced a pattern on my leg as he cut away the wrapping there, freeing first my knees, then my thighs and hips.

Then Sir caught the bottom edge of the wrap, right at the mound of my pussy, and slashed through the remainder of it. I instinctively sucked in my stomach and closed my eyes. This was the scariest part of the scene, although I knew he was far too careful to actually cut any skin. When I opened my eyes, there was an appreciative buzz from every direction and people were starting to break off into small groups again. sage knelt on the floor, gathering up the bits of plastic wrap and yanking at her skirt to keep it as far down as possible.

I scanned the crowd again as I got off the table and put my bodysuit back on, but I didn’t see anyone who even remotely resembled Randy. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to help sage clean up. I wasn’t in subspace at all, but that hadn’t been the purpose of this scene. Sir had designed it to work on my claustrophobia, the same way he planned things to work on sage’s body image issues.

sage handed me an armful of plastic. “How did you do? You didn’t seem too panicked this time.”

“I really wasn’t,” I agreed, happy that she was acting friendly again. “I think I may be getting over that.”

“That would be cool.” We pushed our bundles into the garbage can and smiled at each other. Now if only Randy would disappear for good, we could all get back to normal.

Chapter 9

“Hello?” I said sleepily into the phone on Monday morning. It was about ten, and I didn’t have a reason to stay up after Sir and sage had left.

“sunni?” a tentative female voice said on the other end.

“Yes…” I tried to place the voice, which sounded vaguely familiar, but had a hard time with it.

“This is Debi, from The Fringe?” The voice went up at the end like she was asking a question, and in my half-awake fog I wondered if I were being asked to identify someone. I hesitated, groggily considering it. It certainly didn’t sound like Debi—but then I hadn’t actually heard her speak very often.

“Oh, hi, Debi.” I shook my head a little to clear out the confusion.

“Hey, sunni, I was wondering if you would meet me for lunch,” she said, a little more confident now.

I bit back the word “Really?” and went for, “Uh, sure. When?”

“Like, today?”

“Oh, today? Yes, I guess so. Where?”

We went through the “I don’t know, where would you like to go?” process for a few minutes before deciding on a sandwich shop on Colorado Boulevard. I hung up and went to shower. What could she possibly want to talk to me about?

When I got to the restaurant at noon, Debi was already at a table in the back, wearing a huge black sweatshirt over tight leggings and boots that looked like they’d seen better days—like maybe World War I. I must have looked like June Cleaver in comparison and had a sudden urge to go shopping at the army surplus store. Debi met me at the front to order our sandwiches.

When we sat at the table later with our food, I looked at her curiously. She seemed a little embarrassed, as if she was going to tell me something really personal or ask me to do something I wasn’t going to want to do. Neither option sounded good, and I suddenly wished I’d been busy for lunch today.

“So, what’s going on?” I asked as we organized our sandwiches and chips. I took a sip of soda and waited for her to answer.

She shrugged, and I thought for a second she was going to blow off whatever she had called me here to say. It would be an extremely awkward lunch if we had to sit here pretending we had things to talk about. But she ate a chip, seemed to come to a decision, and looked me full in the face for what was probably the first time.

“I want to know more about what you were talking about the other day—you know, with the puppy stuff,” she said defiantly, like she expected me to have her committed for asking.

I was puzzled. I couldn’t remember when I had been talking to Debi about that, but then it hit me. Right before Randy had come in, when we had been decorating the front window, I’d been telling her about the puppy supplies and how we could incorporate it into our display later.

I suddenly felt very awkward and defensive. Was she going to use this information to make fun of me? I really didn’t trust her. But I had told her a little about it, wisely or not, and it would look really bad to refuse to talk about it now.

I took a breath. “What do you want to know?” This was going to be weird. She was obviously embarrassed to be asking, and I was definitely embarrassed to be forced to talk about it.

“I’ve heard about furries, but how is this different? Do people really dress up like puppies? In public? What do they do?”

There was no way out of it now. I put down my sandwich and tried to collect my thoughts.

“Well, furries are full-body costumes, whereas puppies generally only add a few accessories like ears and tails,” I began, waiting for her to start ridiculing me. “The main point of puppy play is to let loose your inner playfulness, whether we stay at home or get together to play in public.”

Her eyes got huge. “We? You do it too?”

Oh, shit. Apparently I had been more careful that day than I had realized. I gulped a little.

“Yes,” I said finally. “I do it too.”

She looked at me thoughtfully. Our relationship teetered on an edge: either we were going to be good friends after this conversation, or we probably wouldn’t be able to look each other in the eye. But there was no going back and besides, we hadn’t been particularly friendly before this. We didn’t have much to lose if it went badly.

“What’s that like?” she asked, taking a big bite of her sandwich and settling down for a long discussion.

“It’s kind of hard to describe. For people who are into it, when you put on the puppy gear and get into that head space, you lose—no, lose isn’t the right word for it. You intentionally stop thinking like a human and let yourself go into an altered mental state. You
become
a puppy, or a kitty, or a bird, or whatever it is that you—do.”

“Why do y—people want to do that?” She didn’t sound as repulsed by it as I would have expected. I probably would have been much worse myself before I had tried it and found out how much fun it was.

“Well, for lots of reasons,” I said, not really sure how to explain. “Some people like getting away from their human thoughts and emotions. When you’re in puppy space, you don’t have to bother with any of that, and you don’t have people trying to get you to be reasonable, or logical, or make decisions, or explain yourself. You just play, and do what comes naturally to a puppy. Sometimes you can immerse yourself almost to the point of forgetting that you’re human completely. That’s a really good feeling. Sometimes it’s even hard to come back.”

“How did you get into it?” she asked.

I sighed, trying to think of a good way to explain. This part was complicated.

“My master sent me and my sister slave sage away for a weekend once as a punishment, and I had to be a puppy. I thought I was going to hate it, but when I let myself relax a little and get into the role, I realized that there was something really fun and natural about it.”

“Your ‘master’?” She looked scared now, like I might try to brainwash her and recruit her into a cult of some kind.

“Well,” I said slowly, watching her reaction, “I am in what is called a power exchange relationship. I have a master and a sister slave, and we all live together.”

She shook her head. “Geri said you were into some ‘Master/slave’ thing but she didn’t explain what it was about. It sounds kind of scary.”

“It can,” I agreed. “And of course there are people who take it too far, but mostly it’s a really sensible way to live.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in negotiated relationships, it’s not all about one person getting to boss the other person around. It kind of is, but first you have to very carefully work out how you’re going to treat each other, what is allowed and what isn’t, and what you want to get out of it. It’s more or less role-playing, but more serious. Everybody knows their rights and responsibilities and there are no excuses for not pulling your weight. There’s also no ‘If you loved me you’d do this or that.’ If you need something you have to negotiate for it. And if the other person needs something you have to take it seriously, because they’re taking your needs seriously. No power struggles. Just lots and lots and lots of talking things out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t that get really boring?”

I laughed. “It can, but it’s better than putting up with somebody’s shit for as long as you can and then leaving, hoping to find somebody who will ‘treat you better.’ I’ve watched lots of people go through that cycle over and over again. The fact is that you’ve got to take responsibility for your own happiness, and that’s a lot of work, whether you’re in a vanilla relationship or a kinky one. I think it’s just more rewarding in a kinky relationship, because it can maintain the kind of intensity you have at the beginning. And if you’re weird, it’s okay, because all your friends are weird too. No guilt.”

She looked deep in thought as she tipped the potato chip crumbs from the bag into her mouth. Then she nodded. “I can kind of see that,” she said. “But how does the puppy thing fit in?”

That was a good question. “It’s kind of related, because there are puppies and there are trainers, the humans who take care of them while they’re playing and afterwards. They provide toys and treats, help them get into and out of their gear, and make sure they’re okay as they’re getting back to their human selves. So in a way it’s a power exchange too. But for the puppies it’s more about the chance to become a puppy for a while and just play.”

She tilted her head, confused. “But in pictures, the leather crowd all seems so serious. What’s that about?”

I laughed. “They do, don’t they? But for the most part it’s just acting. They just like to look all serious and threatening. It’s kind of like the kink community. To look at them in their black leather, leading each other around by leashes, you’d think they were outlaw bikers who enslave women and sell drugs. But for the most part they’re the nicest group of people I’ve ever met.”

Her eyes were big again. “Really?”

I took a bite of sandwich, nodding. “Scary is sexy, right? And leather is both. But most of the people in the community are very normal. They have kids and regular jobs. And there’s something really cool about them. I think it’s that they’ve found where they belong, if you know what I mean. They’ve accepted who they are. They know how they relate to each other and they’ve already negotiated most of their relationships, or at least the ones that matter when they’re at kink events. Something like that. I don’t know how to explain it.”

She thought for a minute. “That sounds pretty cool. I might have to check it out.”

“Have you ever been to any kink events?”

She shook her head.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” she said, embarrassed. I wasn’t sure why she would be. She ducked her head. “And a half.”

I almost laughed out loud. She was old enough to go to the club, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was mature enough to handle it. But I supposed it wasn’t up to me to make that call. If she wanted to find out more, I couldn’t stop her. The least I could do would be to try to make sure she was safe.

“Well, if you want to go to the club sometime, you’re welcome to come with us. As long as you don’t make fun of people,” I added warningly. God, I was starting to sound like my mother. “Or you can come over and have dinner sometime. Sir would be glad to talk to you about it. He explains things way better than I do.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I might do that,” she said, and I suddenly felt very nervous. What was Sir going to think about this? He might not appreciate my offer.