He said it with a smile, though. He was an asshole. Naturally, that meant I was in love.
I broke Rule #4. I let Shawn take me home the first night we played together.
Shawn fucked like a man. That hard, selfish rutting. His fingers squeezed my hips and made me feel claimed. When he came, he collapsed beside me, and didn’t offer to finish me.
Instead, he motioned to his chest and said: “Come on. Be a good girl and cuddle.”
Why was I attracted to this?
I wanted to drown in his musk. His sweat was like a pheromone to me. I could hardly wait to tell Ophelia, who’d become my kink-sister. When I found her at the club the next week, I cornered her in the longue and spilled my guts, barely taking a breath in between sentences. She listened, nodded, eyes widening in places, laughing in others. Then, suddenly, she took my hand and squeezed, stopping me.
“Hey,” she said. “I’msoproud of you for taking what you want. Seriously. Go slut girl summer. But can we pick this up later? Ireallywant to hear the end of it, but someone important just walked in.”
Important? What was more important than my new man crush? But?—
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”
I watched as Ophelia crossed the room. Ophelia—objectively the most stunning woman at the club—had her eyes on someone. I expected Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Idris Elba, maybe.
Instead, something weird happened.
A guy entered—average height, slim build. A face that was easily lost in a crowd. In his forties, maybe, with tight curls that were going grey. Not hot the way guys like Carver were hot—all brawn and youthful arrogance. He was just…some guy in jeans and dad shoes. Forgettable, except for a purple birthmark that curved from his cheek down his neck.
Ophelia didn’t perform her normal peacocking: flirting and parading around the dom until they were practically dragging her upstairs. Instead, she immediately lowered herself to the floor in front of him. She put her hands on her knees, bowed her head, and dropped her eyes on the ground.
Doms were people we obeyed in public, but laughed about behind their backs. They were bossy little boys who were fun when you needed a spanking, but easy to discard after.
This wasn’t that. This was Ophelia unlike I’d ever seen her before—truly, reverently, completely submissive.
I watched, hypnotized by the exchange.
The man crouched down, lowering himself to Ophelia’s level. He put his hand on her shoulder. He tilted his head to her ear. I could see him whispering.
Without raising her eyes, she answered clearly: “Yes, Master.”
He pulled a slim rope out of his pocket. He looped it around her wrists and then pulled it between her arms, latching them together. The rope left a small tail and he usedit like a leash to guide her up. She followed him, her head still bowed, her wrists bound in front of her.
I felt Carver over my shoulder. I wasn’t the only one watching them. “Who’s that?” I asked him.
“Phantom,” he answered. “He runs this place. He’s Ophelia’s dom.”
Her…dom? The Ophelia I knew haddoms. Plural. Casual guys she played around with.
But this felt different.
Carver nudged me with his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s grab a seat. It’s usually a good show.”
I followed Carver upstairs to the second floor.
Phantom and Ophelia had claimed the rigging room. There were a few chairs around the room, some already taken. Carver and I took the loveseat against the wall. Ophelia was face down on the carpet. Her dress had been removed and now, clad in her bra and panties, she was wrapped up in a cocoon of rope. Phantom was winding strands of purple rope around and around her. Her legs and arms were tied together behind her, so her body stretched backwards in an arch. I was used to bratty Ophelia—the Ophelia who would goad on her dominants and talk back to them. Now, she wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking. I would’ve thought she’d fallen asleep, except every now and then Phantom would stop what he was doing to lean over and murmur in her ear, and she would nod and respond with a softYes, MasterorNo, Master.
It should’ve been boring, sitting there and just watching him tie her up. Instead, I found myself captivated by it. Each strand of rope seemed to pull Ophelia deeper and deeper into a trance. Then, when she was completely bound, he untied a rope that was cleated to the wall. As he gave it slack, a square device with four hooks lowered from the ceiling. I watched as he slotted the ropes from Ophelia around thehooks. Once she was secure, he returned to the cleat, strung it back through, and began to pull.
Ophelia lifted. It pulled her through the air until she was hanging like a human chandelier, arms and legs bound behind her.
My heart pounded in my chest. He lifted her until she was dangling in the air. Then he secured the rope and returned to her. I watched him check in with her again. She nodded. Gently, slowly, he began to slide his fingers over her skin. Down her stomach. Her legs. She shivered, squirmed, but she was completely immobile. When his gentle touches turned rougher with a smack on her thigh, she yelped helplessly.
He teased her with his hands. Then with a paddle. He could’ve had any part of her he wanted, but he stayed away from the space between her thighs. This wasn’t sexual. This was something else—an exercise in trust.
