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CHAPTER SEVEN: EROS' QUIVER - PART TWO
Pip nodded. “Do you even need to ask?” They had known each other long enough and played with each other often enough to know what the other liked and were always up for what they had to offer.
Pip heard Cora’s tinkling laugh—sprite-like, beautiful with just a touch of evil intent—right before she felt the rub of rope around her wrist. She felt its twisted length weave and wound around the bamboo bars, over her arms and elbows, securing her tight to the frame. Instinctively, Pip pulled against the ties, feeling them tug taut and unyielding as they bit into her skin. She heard Cora laugh again. “Should I be mean?” The devious top’s breath hot and sweet against Pip’s face.
“Oh,” Hayato murmured, “I think so.”
Pip’s breath caught as she felt Cora grab her left foot, lifting it to rest on one of the knee-high bars, hooking her heel around the bamboo. “Oh God, really?” Pip choked on a laugh, while shaking her head. Cora really loved to keep her bottoms off-balanced, loved to be the one to literally alter a partner’s world.
“Oh, yeah,” she heard Cora answer, slapping her calf playfully. “Really.”
Pip’s hands reflexively tightened on the bar as she lifted herself slightly and tried to right her shifted equilibrium. She felt Cora loop rope around her ankle, tying it in place so her left thigh was completely exposed.
“There.” Cora gave Pip’s thigh a friendly pat. “I think that should do it.”
“Mmm,” Hayato commented. “Yes, thank you, Cora; that’s perfect. Isn’t it, Pip?”
“Perfect?” Pip hopped a bit on her right foot, chuckling as she tried to find her balance on the floor beneath her. “I think you and I have different definitions for that word,” she said, her tone somewhere between sweet sincerity and sharp sarcasm.
Well, if their goal was to make her forget everything, they were succeeding. It was hard to care about work or life worries when the very ground beneath her seemed uncertain. When the way she would move and hold herself was no longer hers to control. When her body felt like someone else’s plaything.
“Yes,” she heard Hayato coo, “I suppose we do.” He slapped the leather toy—his paddle, perhaps—against his palm again. She jumped at the sound, anticipating that thick, heavy toy.
She almost smiled as she felt him run—caress—the large, blocky, leather-covered paddle along her shoulders, her spine, over her ass and thighs. She laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“Is there something funny?” He tipped her head toward him with the paddle’s leather-blunted but still sharply stinging edge.
She breathed in the scent of wood and leather and smiled. “I just should have known you’d go for the paddle.” If he wanted to get her attention, that was a good toy to start with.
“Why’s that?” He grasped the bar, his pinky and forefinger wrapping around her fist. “Been bad,” he asked, tilting her chin up with the toy as he closed her in, “have you?”
Thoughts of Tracy Meyers crept into Pip’s head. She saw that girl’s sweet face looking out at her from the newspaper print. Pip remembered reading the shame of her parents who’d had to find the body of their daughter tangled in ropes with a badly made gag choking her. She recalled the part about how the cops had said her boyfriend, Kevin Leman, hadn’t known she could choke on the panties he’d shoved in her mouth, when he’d left her. He’d just thought it was part of the game.
And, sure enough—just as Wendy had said—Tracy was one of Pip’s listeners. One of her readers. She’d been a fan of Infommunity for a long time and had been one of the first to subscribe when Pip joined the site. Only to die five months later from an accident The Deviant Nerd was made to prevent. It was bondage 101.
“Pip?” she heard Hayato say.
Pip had always thought that she and her podcast could make a difference. Open people’s eyes. Keep people safe. Demystify the fantasy by bringing it into reality.
“Are you okay?”
Did she make a difference? Or was she just part of a culture that sensationalized risk and danger, sexing it up and wrapping it in a pretty, salacious package? Did she really keep people safe? Or did she—and everything she’d worked for over the years—just give people a false sense of security? Did she give people the freedom and knowledge to go after what they wanted, to explore the depths of their desires? Or did she just dangle enough titillating information for people to hang themselves with?
Pip felt Hayato’s hand cup her chin. “Pip,” he said, his voice insistent, “answer me. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Pip shook her head out of his grip. “Sorry,” she said. “Just,” she took a deep breath and chuckled half-heartedly, “blanked for a second.”
“Do you want to stop?” he asked quietly but firmly even as his hands reached for the rope.
“No!” Quickly, she shook her wrist from his hands as much as she could. “No.” She needed this. For a moment, it’d been working. Had kept those thoughts at bay. It may be weak and cowardly—running away from the reckoning she felt just on the horizon—but she needed it. “I want to keep going.”
She felt him step back. Felt his hesitation as he studied her for a long, silent moment.
“I’m okay,” she assured him, stiffening her shoulders and centering her weight over her right foot. “I’m ready.”
“I think I have just the thing.” She heard a female voice, sure with just a bit of sass.
Max.
Pip smiled as she felt hands reach through the bars in front of her face to slide wireless earbuds into her ears. “It’s my personal play playlist, if you know what I mean.”
She heard Hayato chuckle. “I can always count on you to know just what to do,” she heard him say right before all sound got drowned out by hard, thumping dance music.
She felt the earbuds’ cords stretch out in front of her. Max must have been standing on the other side of the frame. Pip wondered if she ought to feel like Max was intruding on her scene. But she didn’t. It didn’t feel intrusive.
Max was a friend. If anything, she was adding to the scene. Pip listened to the song playing in her ears as it pounded wildly in another language—Spanish or maybe Italian. Pip let herself get lost in the sound of notes and the romantic flow of context-less words. She let her mind slip away from everything. From the frame. From the ropes. From the scene. From Donovan’s. From the world itself.
A slap smacked her in the ass, making her jump. Her eyes shot open beneath the blindfold and her heart stopped for a moment only to then thunder in her chest. She heaved, her breaths short and shallow as she furiously sucked in air, feeling the slap’s burn along her skin.
Again.
The thought was pleading and demanding all at once.
And, as if by command, the paddle struck again on her other cheek. She felt its strike reverberate through her, like an electric echo racing through her body. The strikes came. Over and over. On her ass and thighs. They pounded with the same intensity as the music. Filling her up, leaving no room for anything else.
Her body tensed as that pound turned—without warning or even much pause—into slashing stings like exploding stars along the expanse of her skin as the beaded multi-tailed whip streaked over her shoulder blades. Her body literally shook with the sensation.
It should have hurt.
Kind of did.
But, more than that, it just made her feel alive. Like every sense was in overload. Each sharp, snap connection messed with the chemicals—adrenaline and endorphins—in her brain. She felt those stings throb just beneath her skin in time to the music raging in her ears. Her mind burst into colors and light behind the blindfold at each lash of the whip.
Her body arched into the whip’s harsh touch, begging for it even as her knees began to buckle beneath her, leaving her even more unsteady. She tried to lock her knees—at least the right one—firming her stance and gripping the frame more surely, but her whole body was shaking, shuddering with the sensations roiling inside her.
Pip was riding an edge, she could feel it—almost like an orgasm—building inside her, pushing her toward a peak.
And then, with a slice of Hayato’s cane across her ass, she just let go, crying out—the sound silent to her own ears though it tore free from her throat. He struck again before her body slackened against the frame, the hit cutting just below the curve of her ass.
Her sweet spot.
He hit her there. Once. Twice. Three times. Before she finally felt herself fall over that edge. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp that clawed its way free. “Okay.”
She heaved and hung on the frame. Her body limp, content to let the resilient bamboo hold her up. Pip smiled as she heard the music player—still in Max’s hands—shift from the pumping rhythms to a more soothing song. Operatic. Almost ecclesiastic. The sound embraced her and urged her body to relax. Pip sighed.
Max really did always know just what needed to be done.
Pip felt hands at her ankle and her wrist, carefully unweaving knots. Her hands still clutched the bars, even as the ropes were removed. She clung to the bamboo’s strength, willing it to be hers for just a moment longer.
She felt the earbuds being removed from her ears, even as she heard Hayato whisper and the sounds of the room flood back to her, “Close your eyes, Pip.”
She did before she felt him take off the blindfold. She squinted against the light that filtered in behind her lids. She blinked quickly, forcing her eyes to readjust.
She felt hands rest over her waist and felt the silk of Hayato’s suit brush against her sensitive skin. She shivered. His arms wrapped around her middle, cuddling her close. “Time to let go, Pip.”
So she did. Letting herself rest safe in his arms.
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