But she's smiling.
That small, private smile she thinks no one sees when she finishes writing a chapter that surprises even herself. The one that says she's just discovered something new about who she actually is underneath all the shame and self-loathing.
I smile with her. I can't help it. This woman has no idea how fucking magnificent she looks right now.
She's fumbling with the harness buckles, still trembling from the adrenaline spike, when I activate the speakers.
Male voices filter through the hidden audio system.
"Look at her. Absolutely stunning."
"God, she's exquisite. Look at that body."
"Is she trembling? I think she's trembling."
"Of course she's trembling. Wouldn't you be?"
Scarletta freezes. Her eyes wide, mouth slightly open, breathing shallow. I can almost hear her thoughts.
Men. Watching me.
Her thighs press together, almost involuntarily, and then she snaps out of it and extracts herself from the final loop of harness.
The voices continue their casual assessment of her naked flesh, commenting on her curves, her skin, the visible evidence of her arousal.
Her nipples harden further. She wants to be seen. Almost all her stories have some voyeurism in them. The women are typically the exhibitionists, the men, voyeurs.
I am not interested in sharing Scarletta with anyone. Not even for watching. Not even with men who are paying obscene amounts of money for the privilege.
But the attendants are different. They're professionals executing a job with clear boundaries and explicit instructions. There's no personal investment, no possessive intent, and therefore, no threat.
Random clients are an entirely different category of risk.
The men who come to Story Island are exactly like me. Sick, sadistic fucks who get off on violence and control. They pay me extraordinary sums to indulge their darkest urges in a place where evidence disappears and witnesses never existed.
Most of them have never even tried to separate the control from the violence the way I do. They don't understand the difference between dominance and cruelty, between pushing boundaries and obliterating them entirely.
They want to hurt women.
Ask me how I know…
Should any of my clients cross a line without permission… well, I become invested. I do a very thorough background check on every man who enters my establishments. I knoweverythingabout them.
Are they sadistic pieces of shit?
Evil, sick, insane?
Yes. Yes, yes, and yes.
I don't want to hurt women. I simply want to own one.
This is not the same thing.
But if I turned down every sadistic, evil, sick, insane piece of shit who filled out my application, my business would not exist.
Even a powerful man like Volk has to follow the rules. Because once he tips those scales, theymustbe balanced.
That's why one side of my wall of screens shows Scarletta discovering what it feels like to be an object of desire. The other side shows Volk discovering what it feels like to be prey.
