Page 35 of Left of the Slash
“Same,” I answer. “I had a relationship end not too long ago and got tested right after. Good to go.”
“Perfect. I love that you used a condom before, because we hadn't discussed it yet, but I would love it if you came inside of me.”
My cock throbs so hard I think it will shoot my zipper across the room.
“Oh,” I say, trying to keep from smiling. I take the pen and put my check next to hers. “Then I'm good with it.”
“Good,” Olivia says, then she takes the pen back and slides down a section about safe words. “We talked about this last time. When I say the wordred, everything stops. But, I also like to use the wordyellow. This means that I'm starting to feel a little uneasy about what we’re doing. It’s an indication that I’d like you to tread lightly, and to be prepared to stop if it comes to that. Please mark this so that I know you understand and agree.”
I watch Olivia make her mark, then I make mine.
“And lastly, but probably the most important,” she continues, making her way to the bottom of the page. “This is about aftercare. When we engage in these scenes together, it can get very intense for me. Don't get me wrong,I wantit to be intense, but the emotions from all of it can become quite volatile, and after it's all done, I need to be cared for. You can't just bind me and spank me, then leave me to mentally recover from that on my own. Men I've slept with before seemed to struggle to understand this, so I need you to agree and tell me that you understand why this is something I want. If you're going to break me, I need you to put me back together. If you can't understand this part, you can't have the rest.”
I nod, quickly understanding something I hadn't ever thought of before. To an amatuer, I figured that BDSM was only spanking and flogging before fucking and coming. I never thought about what happens afterward. But now that Olivia is explaining it, I totally understand why she would need to be cared for after something that could easily be traumatic. So, I don't hesitate to place my mark in the box.
“I understand and agree, one hundred percent.”
Olivia nods with satisfaction on her lips, then both of us sign our signatures on the bottom of the paper to make it all official. It all feels so formal that I half expect her to finalize it with a notary. After she puts the pen down, she finishes off her glass of Chardonnay and stands up, looking me directly in the eyes.
“Okay,” she says, smiling big. “Now that we’ve done that. I need you to follow me.”
Without giving me time to answer, Olivia walks away from the island and heads down a hallway off the kitchen. I quickly knock back the rest of my wine as I stand, then scurry to catch up to her. She leads me down one hall that connects to another, then turns to a royal blue door and opens it up. Behind it is a staircase leading to what looks like a basement. She immediately starts down the stairs without looking back or saying a word, and I silently follow while anxiety and curiosity make my heart roar with each descending step.
When she reaches the bottom, Olivia flips a switch on the wall that sends fluorescent lights flickering in front of us, lighting up a room that comes into view as I reach the bottom of the steps. When I see it, it’s like I've taken off my helmet in outer space—my eyes go wide, my lungs deflate, and my heart implodes behind my ribcage.
I can barely believe my eyes as they scan the room and take in everything I'm seeing. It’s a white and pink sex dungeon, including a giant black X on the wall to my left with handcuffsdangling from it, a bench made for bondage on the far wall, a sex swing to my right, and a plethora of sex toys shamelessly on display, taking up nearly every square inch of the walls. Upstairs, Olivia decorated with paintings. Down here, she drowned the room in sex. There are vibrators, ropes, chains, canes, ball gags, nipple clamps, an array of floggers, and an endless selection of dildos ranging from small white ones, to giant black ones, to some that look like multi-colored octopus tentacles. I’ve seen these things before but never had the pleasure of using them. My jaw hangs wide open as I stare at it all, unblinking and unable to break up the cement that has encased my feet.
Olivia lets out a sigh as she steps in front of me, her arms wide like she's proudly showing it all off. “Welcome to my playhouse.”
TWENTY-ONE - Quinn
“Your playhouse?” I say, repeating it in the hopes that saying it out loud will dilute some of the shock I'm feeling. It’s not that I'm scared of anything I'm seeing. I just never imagined Olivia beingthisinto the BDSM lifestyle. No wonder she said I had a lot to learn.
Olivia steps aside as I walk into her basement, my eyes roaming around, taking all of it in. I feel her watching me as I slowly step over to the giant X and run my fingers over the polished black wood. I reach up and pull at the handcuffs at the top of the X, and I can't even diagnose how I feel. My eyes are wide, but I want to smile. I'm both impressed and taken aback—a walking conundrum.
“Yes,” Olivia answers, still watching me closely, wondering how I’ll respond to seeing all of this—always the teacher testing the student.
I leave the X and walk over to a wall covered from baseboard to crown molding with floggers of all different sizes and materials. There is a flogger for every color of the rainbow, and the dangling tails go from completely innocent-looking with simple leather material, to long whips that look like torture devices full of thorns or faux-barbed wire on the tips. My eyes widen to the diameter of the sun as I look at them, struggling to determine how it makes me feel. Do I want to grab the most terrifying one and test it out on Olivia’s unmarked skin? Or do I want to run away and never look back at the devious and dark world she has introduced me to?
My dark devil hungers for the former.
“What are you thinking?” Olivia asks from behind me.
I continue my self-guided tour, finding my way over to a wall of neatly wound ropes of different colors and thicknesses. “A million different things,” I reply.
“Can you be more specific?” she asks. “The most important thing about this dynamic is open communication. We have to talk to each other about how things like this make us feel, so don't be scared to speak your mind. I want to know what you do and don't like.”
I nod, but keep my eyes on the king-sized bed with black satin sheets and four wooden pillars that reach for the ceiling like outstretched arms.
“Umm,” I begin, unsure of what words to say next. “Honestly, I have no idea how I feel. I'm just taking it all in, I guess. How long have you had all of this?”
Olivia clears her throat. “A little while. I've slowly built my way up to it over time.”
“And you've used this with every guy you've been with?”
“Of course not,” she responds quickly. “Not every guy is capable of being a Dom, so it’s not even worth showing it to mostguys, and I don’t date a lot. You're one of the few, and only the second to see it in its finished state.”
“So youhaveused this stuff with someone else?”
