‘The fug of sex,’ answers Will without turning. So I guess I’d said that out loud. Down a set of stairs, we descend into a basement. A basement with something of a stage. And a crowd. Even stranger is the fact that they’re sitting in red velvet cinema seats.
Hell is empty because all of the devils are here. Watching.
We stay at the back of the room, and we don’t take a seat, standing behind the empty back row.
A dark haired woman is tied to a table, naked but for two sets of leather cuffs strapping her down. Her legs are spreadeagled and tied to the table legs, her arms spread out in the opposite direction. Fingers curled over the wooden ledge, her luxurious hair cascades around her face. Beside her stands a man in dark pants and a white shirt rolled at the sleeves. Red headed, and about my age, he has the most amazing red beard, coating his face like a flame. Suddenly, he hunkers down, his eyes meeting hers.
‘What’s going on?’ I whisper, tension thick in my throat. Her nakedness embarrasses me and though I wouldn’t admit it out loud, it also turns me on.
I can’t help but watch no matter how much I feel it’s wrong.
‘He’s giving her instruction.’ Will smiles sort of sadly at my confused frown. ‘It might be they’re negotiating the count or—’
My head whips around. ‘You mean how many times he’ll hit her?’
‘Yes,’ he says gently. ‘Because she wants it. And because she likes it. She might even feel she needs it.’
This is fifty shades of... of mind blowing stuff.
The red headed man stands, lifting a small leather case from the floor, placing it on the woman’s back like she’s an extension of the table—an inanimate object.
I glance up at Will’s strong profile. Arms folded across his chest, his chin is held high as he watches the scene playing out on stage.
‘Do you enjoy this sort of stuff?’
He swallows, then rolls his full bottom lip into his mouth, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he watches as the man pulls a wooden paddle from his case, pushing it under her face. As she kisses it, something hot and wet blooms in the pit of my gut.
‘Are you asking if I like being on stage?’
His question? That’s really not what he’s saying. I rub my lips together as I try to find the right question among the many swimming through my head.
‘Do you own a paddle?’
‘I don’t. I prefer my hand over most things.’ The implication is so... terrifyingly sexual.
‘Including the spatula?’ I ask softly, not quite believing I’ve uttered the words.
I have mixed emotions when I think about that night, but the strident slaps and the resulting stings I don’t feel so conflicted about, strangely.
‘Have you imagined it since?’ The cadence of his voice speaks of bedrooms. Of whispered promises and hushed tones. ‘Have you touched yourself while imagining?’
Between my legs feels needy and heavy, and ripe for use. But I don’t turn as we both keep our eyes on the stage.
The man taps the woman’s ass with the paddle, and she turns her head over her shoulder and smiles back at him as he does. There seems to be some goading going on.
Thwack.I barely see his arm move but I hear the sting.
The woman grunts. It sounds like a number. It rings through the room.‘One.’
He hits her harder, the breath blowing out of again. ‘Two.’
The third stroke he aims a little lower, and this time the woman’s cry is more a moan.
On and on, he rains down concise blows, in between he pets her reddened skin, strokes a finger between her legs. Slides the edge of the paddle against her pussy, holding it up for the crowd to see the pale wood dark with her wetness.
‘You’re enjoying this.’ Will brushes the hair from my face, pressing his lips against my neck. And I let him. Against everything I know I should do I let him; encourage him as I tilt my head to the side releasing a breathy moan.
‘I dare you to take your panties off.’
