7. The Video
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE VIDEO
Layla
My phone rings with an unknown number. I make a note of the local area code, and despite trying, I can’t seem to steady my erratic pulse. Despite my nerves, anticipation and excitement make it feel like my heart is being jump started.
I’m currently sitting at my two-person dining table and my phone is propped up on my fruit bowl. I smooth my hair and sit up straighter before answering, and when I do, it takes a second to connect the video. I don’t take a breath until it does, and when he comes into view, I try to swallow down the nerves, but my mouth is too dry to do anything but stare.
Starboy is on mute and sitting in a chair against a nondescript white wall. He’s wearing black pants, and a black hoodie is pulled over his signature skull balaclava. The lighting is dim enough that I can’t make out any distinguishing features like eye color, though his biceps are pronounced well, and I can see them through the thick cotton fabric of the sweatshirt.
My eyes skirt to the small rectangle that shows my video feed, and I realize with heated cheeks that I’ve just been staring at him wide-eyed. I’d changed into sweatpants, and my hair is loose and wavy around my shoulders. I’d debated wearing something sexier, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, and also, I’m not exactly known for my sex appeal. When I wasn’t dancing, I was just Layla—a single cat lady who spent her Saturday mornings grocery shopping and her evenings reading about women who got railed by thousand-year-old demons.
I hadn’t even bothered putting in my contacts, so he was getting the real me with glasses, no makeup, and an old shirt that said “Men are better in books.”
Do I say something first? Should I use sign language?
Crap, I’ve even forgotten how to say hi in sign language. In fact, I’ve forgotten how to do anything but stare at the person on the other end of this call.
He leans forward and grabs something, and it takes me a second to see him set a small dry-erase board on his lap and write something out. A second later, he holds it up.
Hi.
I blush. “Hi,” I answer, wincing. “Can you hear me?”
He nods and moves his hands, and it takes me a second to realize he’s asking how I am in sign language. Fortunately for me, sign language has always been easy for me to observe and interpret. I think it’s because I learned it at such a young age, but whenever I see it in real life, I can usually decipher it. I had a student a couple of years ago who was hard of hearing, and I picked it up again really quickly then, too.
“I’m good,” I tell him, slowly signing. “I’m definitely rusty with sign language.” I laugh. I swear he smiles, but I can’t really tell with the mask covering his face. “How are you?” I ask, signing. It helps me to speak the words as I sign.
He shrugs and grabs the dry-erase board, rubbing the previous words off before writing something new. His handwriting is bold and blocky—all caps.
Tired, but better now that I’m talking to you.
My mouth opens and closes. My heart gallops inside my chest, but I decide to play it cool and resist melting into a puddle on top of my dining room table.
“Same,” I say lamely.
He signs something else, and I squint, trying to decipher it. He repeats the motions, and I realize he’s telling me about the book.
“So… the book. Can you tell me about which parts, exactly, you’d like to act out?”
I swallow. “Umm, all of it.”
His shoulders shake, and I realize he’s laughing.
God, I wish I could see what he looks like when he laughs.
He leans forward slightly. “ Let’s start with the first few chapters,” he signs.
“Okay,” I agree, signing.
“Drake meets Sol in college while he’s posing as a student,” Starboy signs. “ In chapter four, another man flirts with Sol when she’s out in another city with some friends. That causes him to kidnap Sol and hold her captive against her will.”
“Well, it’s not exactly against her will,” I explain. “Her consent is dubious but very quickly turns enthusiastic.”
Can you tell me which parts, specifically, you want to try?
My tongue feels thick as I respond. “Umm… I like the idea of being controlled. Of someone telling me what to do and what not to do. I don’t know. Something about being owned like that…not having to be in control, learning to trust someone implicitly…” Again, I don’t bother signing this time.
“You want to be controlled?” he signs. “ As in power exchange?”
“Maybe,” I sign.
Starboy sits quietly for a minute before pulling the dry-erase board closer, erasing the last phrase and writing something else. It feels like he’s writing forever, and I fully expect him to say something like This was a bad idea. I never want to talk to you again. I chew on my lower lip as I watch his hand grip the marker and the veins pop along his large palm and long fingers. Finally, he holds the board up, and it takes me a minute to read what he wrote.
Look, the foundation of any BDSM dynamic is consent. Power exchange is, at its core, a game of pretend. When I spank a submissive or punish her in any other way, I’m doing it because she’s letting me. Like I said, it all comes down to consent. I only have the power I’m given. I don’t take power, and any credible Dominant knows that respect is earned.
“I understand,” I sign.
“Good,” he signs back. “ I think we should start slowly. I can establish some ground rules, and you can see how you feel following them for a few days.”
I squirm in my seat when I think of being controlled by Starboy—of knowing he gave me rules to abide by. A small, dormant part of me relishes in the idea of pleasing him. Like most women who were straight-A students in high school, the idea of doing a good job for him is a turn-on.
“How does that sound?” he asks.
I nod.
“I need to hear you say it, little dancer.”
“ That sounds good ,” I tell him, signing. My hands shake as I move them to form the right words. “ What exactly are your… rules? ”
Starboy spreads his legs slightly, and I can’t help but admire how good he looks leaning back in his chair with his mask.
“Let’s use chapter six of the book. When Drake doesn’t let Sol touch herself. I don’t want you to touch yourself until I give you permission,” he signs almost too quickly for me to interpret.
I suck in a sharp breath. “W-when will you give me permission?”
His shoulders shake again. “ That’s for me to know and for you to obey.”
Holy hell.
“And then what?” I sign.
“Let’s see how it goes for a few days. I’d like you to check in every day. You have my number now.”
I swallow as excitement races through my veins. “Okay.”
“If this goes well, we can discuss the next steps,” he signs. “ And if you follow my directions well, you will be rewarded.”
I shift in my seat as ideas of how I’ll be rewarded float through my overactive imagination.
“One last thing,” he signs. “ I expect full monogamy while we’re doing this. I will abide by the same rules, and I won’t take a romantic partner or submissive while we’re involved.”
“Of course,” I nearly sputter out. The idea of dating someone else while talking to Starboy already feels wrong. An image of Orion flashes through my mind uninvited, but I very quickly push it away.
Orion is my stepbrother, and that can and will never happen.
“Good girl. If this goes well, we can try something else from the book next week.”
“Okay,” I nearly whisper. “And you’re sure you want to do this with me?” I’m suddenly feeling insecure. “I mean, I’m just some random stranger from the internet.”
Starboy’s eyes bore into the camera, and I swear he’s reprimanding me with a dark, silent glare. Grabbing the dry-erase board, he uses his sleeve to erase the last block of text and write something else. Again, I worry he’s going to call this whole thing off, and I take a few deep breaths to quell the anxiety.
This is the first time I’ve ever done something like this. But something about your message made me want to help you. Can I be honest with you?
My breathing hitches. “Yes, be honest,” I tell him a little breathlessly.
He watches me for a second before looking down and adding to the text on the board.
If I knew you in real life, I’d ask you to be my submissive. Full stop. I’m holding back. So let me do this. For you, but also for me.
I’ve completely lost the ability to speak, so instead I think of how to sign what I’m feeling.
“That’s really nice ,” I tell him with my hands.
“Trust me, I’m not nice,” he signs in response.
I chew on my lower lip while I think of how to respond. “ I don’t think I want nice,” I sign slowly. “I read dark romance because I always fall for the villains. I want someone whose intentions are good, but instead of buying me flowers, he cuts off my ex’s hands. Nice guys are just that—they’re nice . But I want someone who will be all-consumed by me no matter what.”
Starboy hangs his head and rubs the back of his neck, and the gesture reminds me so much of Orion… I squeeze my eyes closed. Why the hell am I thinking of him right now?
Grabbing the board, he erases the last block of text and writes something new. My heart pounds as he holds it up for me to read.
Well, to be fair, you can have both—the guy who buys you flowers and cuts off your ex’s hands.
He looks up at me, and I swear I see a devious gleam in his eyes.
You want someone to corrupt you. And I’m more than happy to oblige in a safe, sane, and consensual way. If you’ll have me, that is.
Wow.
We’re really doing this.
Starboy writes something else on the board, and I hold my breath.
I’m all in.
“Me too,” I tell him, signing at the same time.
“Please send me your address or PO Box. I’d like to send you a few things over the next week. I will also need your email address so that I can send over a basic contract,” he signs.
“Okay. What would you like me to call you?”
Online, I’d seen that Dominants sometimes wanted to be called Sir or Daddy.
His head snaps up, and I swear his eyes widen just slightly. He takes the board, erases the words, and writes new ones.
You can refer to me as Master. And you?
My blood thrums with arousal. This is crazy. I’ve never done anything like this before, yet I can’t believe I waited this long to experiment. Zoe and Remy talk about being in the lifestyle every once in a while, and it’s been interesting.
However, I’ve never been captivated like this.
I’m starting to suspect it has nothing to do with Drake and Sol but instead has something to do with the commanding way Starboy just established his dominance over a video.
“Yes, Master,” I say softly. “My name is Layla, but you can call me anything. And I don’t think I know the sign for Master.”
Starboy makes two fists and then extends his hands in a downward motion, and I copy him a few times before he signs, “ well done.”
He grabs the board and writes some more.
1. Check in with me every day.
2. Do not touch yourself unless you get permission from me. I’ll know if you do.
3. Sign the contract.
On paper, it sounds simple enough. Nothing too crazy, and it’ll be a good way to get my toes wet. I’m still doubtful of why he wants to help me of all people, and then I remember what he said.
I’m holding back. So let me do this. For you, but also for me.
“Okay. I agree,” I tell him verbally.
“Stop overthinking ,” he says, signing slowly.
I huff a laugh. “I’ll try.”
He cocks his head. “ Fuck, you have no idea how much power you have over me, do you?” he signs. “ I should go. We’ll talk tomorrow at 10a.m.”
I sit up straighter. “Yes, Master.”
He shakes his head, but it doesn’t look displeased. It looks… in awe.
How is it that this powerful and important man is in awe of me?
“Good night, Layla,” he signs, and the call disconnects just as his words float through my distracted mind.
If I knew you in real life, I’d ask you to be my submissive. Full stop. I’m holding back. So let me do this. For you, but also for me.
So let me do this. For you, but also for me.
For me.
Me.
Without thinking, I text Starboy. I don’t care if I sound needy. Communication is key, right?
I’m still trying to figure out what’s in this for you.
Starboy1997
You’ve given me the honor of consenting to this. The reason you relate to Sol so much is because you’re a natural submissive. You’re also beautiful and intelligent, and you seem to understand me better than any of my other two million followers.
Is that sufficient? ;)
My stomach flutters with something I haven’t felt in… years.
I occasionally meet men who are mutual friends or whom I meet online while perusing one of the horrid dating apps. But I’ve never felt anything close to something like this for any of them. Before my falling-out with Orion, I did feel like this around him, but that was because he was older and cool—unlike me, a wallflower in high school.
Most men are just not my type.
I tried dabbling in dating a woman once, but that felt all wrong, too. That’s when I did more research and discovered the asexual umbrella. From there, I found the definition of demisexual. Something clicked in my mind and I stopped trying to fight against the tide of bad dates and zero chemistry.
I’d slept around a little bit—with three guys, all of whom were my friends—but it never led to anything serious. Sometimes I wondered if I’d ever find someone or if I was meant to live my life alone forever. If I needed feelings before feeling sexually interested, that just made it that much harder to find a guy who would understand and be willing to be patient, especially in today’s dating environment.
I had a high sex drive, but I just didn’t feel that sexual attraction very often.
Until now.
That’s more than sufficient.
Starboy1997
I have a question now.
Okay …
Starboy1997
What made you reach out to me?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I have to think of how to word the truth. It’s not like I’ve been a follower of his for months but saying it out loud sounds even crazier.
Truthfully, I found your profile the day I messaged you. I hadn’t been a follower before that, but I wish I’d found you sooner.
Starboy1997
Or maybe you found me at the perfect time.
I’m smiling as I heart his message, second-guessing it and wondering if I should do a thumb’s up instead when another text pops up below his last message.
Starboy1997
You overthinking? Don’t. I liked the heart.
Damn .
Caught me. Can I ask one more question?
Starboy1997
Go ahead.
How old are you? And what’s your first name?
Three dots appear and disappear several times, and I chew on my thumb as I wait for him to respond. Finally, he answers.
Starboy1997
To you, I am Master. I’m not opposed to giving you my real name, but it’s unique and would be easy to identify. As for my age… let’s say I’m older than 30 but younger than 35. ;)
My mind is spinning with the new information. Okay, so he’s not sixty, but he’s older than me by a few years. And a unique first name… hmm.
Thank you for telling me. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t falling for someone who’s a grandpa.
Starboy1997
If we’re getting technical, a 35-year-old could feasibly be a grandpa.
I laugh out loud, startling Sparrow who is lounging on the couch a few feet away. Covering my mouth, I shake my head.
Fair enough.
Starboy1997
Sleep tight, Little Dancer.
I heart his message before I let my head fall forward onto the table, groaning and smiling and asking myself what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into.