Strapped Down (22 page)

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 center 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.

“Shyla, what the hell is going on? What are you so pissed about?”

I spin around. “How could you bring me here? Around these women you fucked? That Lane bitch, the way she looked at me…I almost slapped her.”

“You’re jealous? That’s what this is about?”

“I’m not like Lane, or
Em
,” I say mockingly.

“That was all a long time ago, Shyla and I am glad you’re not like them.”

“You shared all these things with them. I’m willing to do it all, because it’s special to me. You’re the only person I would ever do this with, but to you, I’m just number 36.”

“You think you’re not special to me?”

“Do you want to share me? Do you want me to be like that girl we watched? Is that what this is about?”

“No. I told you I want you all to myself.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Do you want to leave? That’s all you had to say.”

“No!”

“Then what is it Shyla? What the fuck do you want from me? You can’t keep saying you want something and then throwing it back at me because of your shame or insecurity. None of this works if you don’t trust me or yourself.”

“But, I can’t stop thinking about it. You did those things with Lane. I don’t want to share you, but it’s too late for that. I already have.”

“Shyla it’s just fucking! It’s only been you. It’s only you!” Taylor lets out in exasperation. I stand there in silence. “You feel like you’re somehow less than these women or because they came before you that makes you less important to me? You need to stop with the insecure bullshit. I took you here because I trust you. There was no pressure to do anything. You keep saying you’ll do whatever I want, but you fucking fight me every step of the way! You wanted this godammit,” Taylor paces, running his hand through his hair, his jacket parting open. “You told me you wanted to do this! I said we could be vanilla and now you try to make me feel like shit about it? Fuck you for that! You want it, you know you do, but you won’t be satisfied until you can put it all on my head. This is all about being terrified of who you really are.”

My lip begins to quiver. I want it; I am scared how much I want it. When I saw that woman, I was terrified that I could become her. If Taylor wanted me to go to someone else, I say I wouldn’t, but if nothing else would make him happy, I know I would give in eventually. I can’t show him he has that much power over me. I want to be everything to Taylor and the thought of it frightens me. The jealousy of the subs is real, but it’s only because I want to be better at it than those women before me.

“You’re right,” I say softly.

Taylor opens his mouth to shout again, but then catches himself when he realizes I agree with him. He looks confounded for a second, but then he recomposes.

“Well, then we’re gonna fucking do it my way,” he says, hooking his finger around the O-ring on my collar, dragging me back to the entrance of the house. I open my mouth to say something. “Shut up,” he says firmly. And for once, I obey.

He pulls me up the stairs and again, the doorman lets us in. “Lane!” Taylor calls out like he owns the place. I can’t catch my breath; my heart pounds powerfully. Lane runs out to the mezzanine atop the two adjoining staircases, a look of confusion on her face erased when she sees he has me by the collar. She wanted a piece of us tonight and now I am afraid she just might get what she wished for. He cocks his head, directing her to follow us as he leads me to wooden double doors. Taylor busts them open with the type of confidence that leads me to believe he was either certain no one was on the other side or he just didn’t give a shit.

“Lane, close the fucking door and sit over there,” his firmness, his complete and total ownership of the moment gives me a thrill. Especially watching him completely dominate that red-headed bitch. She follows his directions.

“Oooh, are we going to have some fun?” she asks.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re going to sit over there and you are going to fucking do what I say.”

She cowers, her body language changing in an instant.
She must be a switcher, I read about those.
Taylor still has me by the collar, and he pushes me down to the bed with it. I fall back, watching his frustration and rage translate into something else. He rips off his jacket and thrusts it across the room, then he unbuttons his shirt angrily as he scowls at me.

“Lane, crawl over here slowly.” He doesn’t even look in her direction and he points to a spot beside him on the floor, he glares into my eyes as if daring me to defy him. Instead, I am hypnotized, in complete awe of him and his unfettered dominance. Lane slips down from the upholstered wooden chair, getting on all fours. She slowly slinks over towards us, her long fiery mane grazing the floor, arriving to the foot of the bed, just where my right leg dangles. “Lick her boot slowly,” he says, not breaking his gaze with me, his abs peaking through the unbuttoned shirt. My breath pauses for a second. I believe this is a little gift from him for Lane making me feel inferior and it only solidifies how much I want him at this moment. Lane, looks up at us, doe-eyed, and she grabs the heel of my boot, extending her tongue, slowly gliding it over the patent leather of the foot of the shoe, running it up the entire length. As she reaches the top, Taylor interjects. “Don’t touch her skin,” he says raising a finger but still not looking at her. “Shy, you see that woman there? She is nothing to me, nothing.” I look over to her for a second, suddenly feeling guilty for putting her in this position, but then I realize she might like the putdown. “Look at me. She was only a convenient place for me to stick my dick. Now she’s going to watch, she’s going to learn her place. Lane, get on the bed. Play with her hair.” She crawls on the bed, slowly unraveling my ponytail, so that my hair fans out onto the comforter beneath us. She strokes my hair gently, a far cry from the confident and boisterous woman who greeted me not an hour ago.

Taylor pushes my skirt up and I tense. I’ve never had anyone watch like this before, and I don’t know what to do with myself. “Relax,” he commands, with the first hint of softness in his voice since I stormed out. As much as I loathe to admit it, Lane’s gentle caress helps put me at ease. He firmly rubs my inner thighs as I try to prevent myself from hyperventilating; the tight corset makes me hyperaware of my breathing. Taylor finally pulls off his open shirt and unbuckles himself, whipping his belt out in one motion like an angry father about to spank his child. I hold my breath thinking he might use it. Instead he keeps it taut in his hands for a few seconds, relishing the effect the moment of uncertainty has on me, then throws it to the floor. He rigorously pulls out his erection as his pants drop. “No one makes me as hard as you do,” he says, holding his firmness in his hand.

I catch myself biting my lip and then he does it too. Lane pulls all my hair away from my face, but will not do anything further unless Taylor commands her to do so. Finally, he tells her to undo my top. Hook by hook, she meticulously undoes my bustier; I let out a large exhale as my breasts become exposed. “You nervous?” He asks.

I nod.

He leans on top of me, whispering into the ear opposite the one Lane is laying next to. “It’s always been you. Do you understand? Before I even knew you, it was you. No one else. You aren’t number 36, you’re number one. You’re my first.” He slides his fingers into my mouth and I suck on them, grabbing his thumb and pinky as I suck on his forefinger and middle finger. He softly pulls his hand away and slides his wet fingers inside of me, but he doesn’t even need to, I am so ready for him to enter me. Everything below is so hypersensitive, just aching for his touch, begging for him to make me explode. He completely spreads the corset, so that my entire upper body is bare now, but I feel sheltered in his presence. I trust him with my body.

Lane’s fingers delicately massage my scalp, calming my breathing as Taylor finally plunges into me. I wrap my booted legs around him as I wail with pleasure. I try to embrace him, but he grabs my wrists and pins them overhead, elevating his upper body so that he can take in the scenery. “I need you to just surrender to me. Just fucking surrender,” he commands in a breathy voice as he thrusts into me. “You can’t keep fighting this. I can see how bad you want this. You won’t lose yourself, I promise.”

But there is that last part of me, the last hand I haven’t showed. If I don’t fight him anymore, all doubt will be removed. I am a goner.

“I…I just can’t,” I whisper.

“Just fucking surrender to me. Let me take it all.”

I stare at him in silence, unable to let go of that last piece of my old self. He presses my face with both hands and leans in close. “Just fucking surrender to me already,” he says powerfully as he goes deep inside of me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes.” He smoothly gyrates his hips like a snake, maintaining constant friction.

“Can I touch you?” I ask, my breath shallow.

“Yes,” he says.

Even though Lane is still stroking my hair, it’s like she’s not even in the room. “Do you see where Lane is and where you are?”

I nod.

“You are the one. You. You’re the center of my universe.”

I nod as he dives into my neck, sucking, kissing, biting, his rock hard erection, stimulating everything inside of me. I dig my nails into his muscled back as I call out his name over and over.

Taylor lies next to me, shadow from the dim light casting various shapes on the curvature of his muscles. “We’re done here,” he says to Lane, who is still twirling my hair. She nods, rising from the bed, then makes brief but deliberate eye contact with me as I lie there, still exposed. There is a humility in her eyes I did not see before, and I find myself having an unexpected affinity for her after this shared experience. She exits without saying a word.