Chapter 17
Julia stepped out of the shower, clean at last, the sour bite from the red cooking wine Tyra had accidentally spilled all over her finally gone from her skin.
Her catering blacks were already sealed in a plastic bag for the linen service; the wine-stained underwear underneath had gone straight into the trash.
She wrapped a towel around her hair, working frizz tamer through the damp waves, when a chirp cut through the bathroom. She paused mid-rub, puzzling what it was, when it chirped again.
“The smoke alarm,” she muttered.
She padded into the kitchen, still toweling her hair, and pulled open the first junk drawer. Expired coupons. A dried-out felt tip. Unidentified plastic gizmos she really needed to throw away. AAs, Cs, and one random D battery, but not a single nine-volt.
She slid the drawer shut, opened the second one, because of course she had two, and froze. Rachel’s napkin invitation sat right on top. The date jumped out at her. The party was tonight.
Her hand hovered then dropped away. She closed the drawer with a soft thud and braced herself against the counter, arms folded tight. Standing still was dangerous. It left too much room for the thoughts she’d been outrunning for weeks.
“Bad idea, Dykstra,” she whispered. “You can’t keep walking into strange places with people you don’t know because you’re lonely.”
But for nearly three years, her social circle had been at Devil’s Pointe. Not only on club nights but for special events. Cari and Dev always had something planned. When that ended, she didn’t know what to do with herself. The last several weeks, she’d even cut herself out of the catering.
Her friends had tried to bring her back into the fold. Cari had invited her to a “small dinner party.” When Julia asked, “Will everyone be there?” Cari had known exactly who she meant.
“Leland is in our friend group too, so, yes, he’ll be there. But so will others. Emily and Gaby, and about a dozen more.”
Julia had declined.
Emily had tried too—more casual, as if it wasn’t a setup.
“Come to a cookout. You love the lake and haven’t been over in forever.”
“Is Leland invited?
That brief hesitation had been enough.
“He hasn’t accepted,” she said. “So, maybe he won’t come.”
She couldn’t risk it. Leland, even in moderation, would only stir up still-raw feelings. She’d stepped away from all of it on purpose. But by doing so, had lost so much more.
The smoke alarm chirped again. She stared at the drawer.
“Dammit.”
This time, when she pulled it open, she didn’t have to dig for what she wanted. She grabbed the crinkled napkin off the top and headed for her bedroom to change.
***
She’d been to play parties before, but it had been several years. This one wasn’t what she expected. Not obviously unsafe, just unstructured.
A handful of rooms opened off a central living space. Equipment was set up wherever it fit.
She arrived an hour after it started, and people had already paired off. Julia lingered near the front hall, watching, as she had done so often lately.
A clipboard made its way around—names, roles, preferences. She hesitated when it reached her.
The woman next to her, who’d walked in behind her, asked, not unkindly, “If you’re unsure, why did you come?”
Julia glanced up. Good question.
“You go ahead. I’m in no hurry.”
The woman gave a small nod, filled in her information, and left Julia with the clipboard before moving off toward a group gathered near the French doors that opened onto a lanai.
Julia glanced at the front door. She could still leave. Very few people had noticed her. No one here knew her. No one would care.
She’d taken a step that way when a male voice came from behind her.
“Thinking about making a run for it?”
Julia turned. Mid-thirties, maybe. Well dressed. Dark hair. Attractive in a polished sort of way. The kind of man who probably knew it.
“I haven’t ruled it out.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Bad sign.”
“Is it?”
“In my experience, yes.”
Julia glanced toward the door. “And what experience would that be?”
“Watching people spend twenty minutes standing in the foyer trying to decide if they want to stay.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “How does it usually play out?”
“I’d say 80/20.”
“That many run?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “That many stay. Making it through the door is the hard part. Then curiosity, optimism, and usually pure stubbornness take over.”
That last one earned a soft laugh.
“First time here?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
His smile softened. “I remember mine.”
She doubted that but appreciated the effort. He didn’t crowd her space or immediately ask what she was into. They talked for a few minutes instead. About the weather. Traffic on the way in. The house. Nothing particularly important.
It was easy. Comfortable. He carried himself like someone comfortable in the lifestyle and familiar with rooms like this.
Not Leland.
The thought arrived uninvited.
But then, nobody was.
The awkward silence finally arrived.
“So. We both know why everyone came here. Interested in a scene? I’ll take care of you.”
She didn’t entirely believe him but nodded.
They negotiated bondage, no blindfold, nothing too extreme. Her hard limits tonight were no sex and her panties stayed on.
He agreed. Maybe too quickly.
He led her to a corner of the room and had her kneel on the soft mat spread out on the floor. Soon she was bare except for her skimpy black panties. He cuffed her wrists behind her then rolled her onto her side and cuffed her ankles. Her pulse picked up. She’d never been in a hogtie before.
“Anything pinching or binding?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.
She took a moment. Nothing felt strained. “I’m okay right now, sir.”
“Excellent,” he murmured. “We’ll get started.”
Julia frowned. What had they been doing up to this point if not starting?
He dangled a pair of tweezer clips attached to a chain in front of her. No biggie. She’d worn clovers before and didn’t object.
They went on tighter than she preferred. Not protest wrong, just more than she would have chosen.
He rolled her on her stomach, which was uncomfortable with her clamped nipples pressed between her body and the floor.
Her hair tie went next, replaced it with one of his own, connecting her now-too-tight ponytail to the other restraints.
Fully immobilized, with her neck craned sharply back, she tried shifting, but felt the pull in her breasts, hair, and wrists. He didn’t seem inclined to adjust it.
Julia breathed through the discomfort. Not pain just yet, but yellow was a very near thing. She couldn’t get more restrained than a hogtie, could she? And let it play out.
His attention drifted, less focused, less attuned. And he said nothing. No checking in, no teasing, no commands, only his accelerated breathing.
He rolled her onto her side again then came the crop. Tapping sharply everywhere. Belly, thighs, breasts, her cheek. That was startling. Next, he slid the shaft between her breasts and lifted the chain, pulling until her spine arched to relieve the pressure.
“Perfect. Stay just like that.”
She heard him unzip and the obvious sound of his hand working. She hadn’t specifically ruled it out but thought coming on her was part of “no sex.”
Instinctively, she pulled against the restraints.
“I said be still,” he barked, the crop coming down sharply on her breast and her hip.
Julie sucked in a breath at the lines of fire left behind. But she cut it off when pain pierced her clamped nipples.
She hadn’t imagined any of this and certainly wasn’t getting any pleasure from it. She didn’t mind giving; she was a pleasure sub, that was her thing. But there was no connection, barely any communication. If he had mentioned he was seeking only objectification, she would have politely declined.
“Sir, please… This is too much.”
“And I sure as hell didn’t give you permission to speak!”
Julia drew a breath, ready to shout her safeword, but his hand closed around her throat. She choked out, “Stop—” That’s all she managed, nothing moved in or out, especially not air.
Bound hand, foot, and hair, her struggles were futile. Spots appeared before her eyes.
“When I give you an order, slut. You follow it,” he growled in her ear.
“Hey!” A woman’s voice cut sharply through the haze. “Extreme isn’t okay here.”
“I heard her say stop,” someone else said.
The pressure eased enough for Julia to drag in a rasping breath, but his hand didn’t leave her throat.
“Get out of here,” he snapped. “You’re ruining my scene.”
“Good,” the first woman replied without even flinching.
Rachel. Julia recognized her now.
“Roman!” she shouted. “We need some help over here.”
Footsteps thudded hard across the floor. A man cut through the noise with quiet authority. “It’s over.” Then, as if to others, “Shut it down.”
The pressure vanished instantly. Julia heard a scuffle as she gulped in air. Several hands worked quickly to release her restraints.
“What the hell were you doing, Parker?” Roman demanded.
“The scene we negotiated. She didn’t use her safeword,” Parker said defensively.
“How was she supposed to with your hand on her throat?” Rachel asked, supporting Julia’s body weight when she was freed.
“Ever heard of a safe signal, dipshit?” one woman sneered.
“That wasn’t breath play,” another dom said sharply. “It was panic.”
Parker shook off the hands restraining him. “She was fine.”
Roman looked at Julia. “Was that negotiated?”
Still struggling to breathe properly, she shook her head.
Roman moved in front of Parker, shoulders squared, his body a wall with no way around it.
“You agreed to the rules,” he said flatly, expression hard as iron. “Including no breath restriction. No impact to the face. No nonconsensual humiliation. There isn’t a rule you didn’t break.”
“Jesus Christ,” Parker scoffed. “People are too damn sensitive nowadays.”
“Get your things and get out.”
The words cracked through the room like a whip.
Stunned, Parker blinked. “What?”