Page 65 of Cruel Pleasures
But in this moment, it feels natural. It feels part of playing the game. Though as the room continues to seemingly rotate around me, I’m still unsure what game that even is.
I stop where he’s standing, which happens to be in the middle of the room.
Right next to the thick bundle of rope.
Braving a look up into the black mystery that is his eyes, I’m cloudy. Yet acutely aware of the rope laying at my feet.
I’ve dabbled in the world of kink before. DJ wouldn’t have hired me at Strictly Pleasures if I didn’t have some experience—but that experience mostly comes from a couple years bartending at a sex club like Nightowl when I was in college and a few partners here and there that liked to play.
Never anything extreme. Never anything more than light bondage and some spanking.
I’m not so sure I’m ready for whatever could be thrown at me.
The masked man lets the suspense build for another long moment before he slips behind me.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“Yes or no answers only,” he scolds. His tone lacks emotion. Any real human feeling. “You may not understand such a simple request… but you will. Do you know why you’re here?”
“No. Yes. Maybe.”
I almost laugh again at how disobedient I’m being without even trying. It’s not my fault the spice has heightened my senses and reduced my mood to an uncharacteristic bubbliness. I’m flushed, cloudy-brained, and giggly all at once.
I’m still marveling at how it feels like the plain walls surrounding us are shifting.
But I force myself to focus on the present and pick up on the energy he exudes.
He’s pissed.
“You’re here,” he drawls, “because you have disobeyed. You broke a club rule.”
“And that would be what? Caring about people dying?”
He ignores me. “Do you know what happens in this room?”
“I’m guessing… the rope… I mean, no.”
“An ancient art form is practiced in this room. It originated from a method of restraining captives called hojo-jutsu,” he explains calmly. “It was used on these captives in preparation for torture. The binding used was often rope or some sort of cord. It wasn’t until the recent century that the practice morphed into something else.”
“Shibari,” I blurt out.
“That is correct. It has become a practice used for erotic bondage. It can be a means of deriving great pleasure. But it can also stay true to its tortuous origin and give much pain.” Though I still can’t see him, I sense he crouches to gather the line of rope and then stands back up. “The rules are quite simple. Even a rebellious little bunny like you can manage to follow. You obey, you’re pleasured. You don’t obey, you’re punished.”
“It depends on what you mean by obey—ah!”
He’s clamped a hand down on my shoulder and given a warning squeeze. The touch is so sudden and firm that it’s jarring and makes me wince.
“You seem to have a problem understanding the limitation of your options. Yes or no. Obey or disobey. Pleasure or pain. The sooner you grasp this basic concept, the easier the next couple hours will be.”
His long fingers dance across my shoulders, slip under the thin straps of my dress, and begin to pull them down.
I quickly learn that he’s slow and deliberate in everything he does. Every move he makes feels measured and precise. Every command he gives is well thought out. Every second he invades my space and makes my head spin is intentional.
All by design.
I’m holding my breath without even realizing I am.
