Scene Two
THE DESCENT
Devon was waiting at the bar and watching the door, curious to see if Sarah was going to take him up on the invite to join him for another evening, in a private room this time.
He knew she wanted more after their first session together, so he was sure she would show up.
He saw her come through the door, and they made eye contact.
She walked over to him in a dress that, on all accounts, made the first one look conservative; strapless, sheer red, see-through; he could see that she was wearing nothing underneath it.
"You came back," he said. "You came back for the deeper thing.
Good. Tonight there's no glass. Tonight it's just us, and you find out that quiet is worse.
" He nodded toward a door at the end of the hall. "Walk ahead of me."
The private room was quieter than she'd expected.
She'd imagined something theatrical; instead, there was a door that closed on the noise behind them, and left only the two of them and the sound of her own breathing, which had gone shallow somewhere on the walk down the hall.
"Stand there," he said. "Don't fix your posture.
I want to see what you do with your hands when nobody's telling you what to do with them.
" She didn't know what to do with her hands.
That, she understood, was the point. He circled her once — unhurried, the way you'd walk around something you were deciding whether to buy.
"Tonight you find out the difference between what you thought you wanted and what you actually want," he said.
"They're not the same. You're going to be embarrassed by the gap. Try to enjoy it."
He guided her over to the St. Andrews cross in the corner of the room.
The silence was deafening. Her heartbeat was the loudest noise in the room.
“Do you remember the rules?” “Yes,” she replied.
“What do you say if you want everything to stop?” “Red.” “Good girl. Tonight, yellow will be used if you need things to slow down, and green will be used when you want things to continue as they are. I will ask you throughout to give me a color at certain times. Trust me to read your body. At any time, though, red stands, and everything will stop. Do you understand?” “Yes,” she replied with a voice that was lower than normal and had an unsteady cadence to it.
He turned her back to the cross and proceeded to strap her wrists and ankles with leather cuffs already attached to the cross.
She watched as he stepped back and took his shirt off this time.
She almost came from just seeing the sight of him.
He was rugged and muscular. He had a scar down his chest that made him look even sexier.
Doubts ran through her mind so fast she couldn’t keep up with them.
He went to the wall—rows of implements hanging in their places—and lifted a crop from its hook.
The same as the first room they were in.
He approached her and asked her if she was ready.
She nodded. “Oh no, babygirl. The correct answer tonight is “Yes, Daddy. Want to try that again?” She fumbled with her words for a moment and finally said: “Yes, Daddy.” That grin from the first night was back, as well as the gold in his eyes.
Reaching out with the crop, he smacked her left thigh.
A small yelp escaped Sarah’s throat. There was pain, but there was also something underneath.
He slapped her right thigh. Harder this time.
She ground her teeth together as she felt her core tighten and the wetness between her thighs increase.
Devon reached into his pocket and pulled a knife out.
Sarah immediately wanted to say Red, but she didn’t.
He opened the knife, walked over to her, and proceeded to cut her dress off in one swift movement.
Now, she stood before him naked. Her nipples were hard, goosebumps on her skin, her thighs dripping with the delicious nectar her pussy was producing.
With one quick movement, he used the crop to smack her left nipple, then her right nipple.
An almost silent “ouch” escaped from Sarah’s trembling lips.
He stopped. Took her chin, turned her face up to the light, read it the way he'd read her across the room the first night.
"Color," he said. " ...Green." It surprised her how sure she was.
"Look at you," he murmured, and the approval landed harder than any insult had.
"You don't even know what you are yet." Then he let go of the softness as deliberately as he'd offered it, and went back to work.
Devon untied her from the cross and moved her to the bed that was in the room.
“Bend over. Chest on the bed and spread your legs.” “Yes, daddy,” and she did what she was told.
He had also grabbed a flogger and a Wartenberg pinwheel from the wall.
He placed one hand on the small of her back.
Using the other, he slapped her right ass cheek hard with the crop.
She flinched, and he used his free hand to rub the area softly and whispered, “Good girl.” He did the same to her left ass cheek and repeated this multiple times until her ass was the brightest shade of red you had ever seen, with a hint of purple.
As much as it hurt, Sarah also noticed the softness in between smacks.
As well as the growing fire in the pit of her stomach, she was even more aware of how wet she was becoming.
He took a step back and looked at her for a moment and uttered the word “perfect.” He crossed to the table where the rest of his selections lay, set the crop down, and lifted the Wartenberg pinwheel.
Kneeling behind her, he licked the inside of her thighs, then placed the wheel on her clit and began to roll it up and down her pussy.
This was definitely a new sensation for her.
Small pricks of pain radiated through her, but the level of pleasure it brought with it almost brought her to climax.
He rolled the wheel up between her ass cheeks and over her tight hole several times.
Part of her mind kept telling her to say red, but another part wanted this more than she had ever wanted anything else.
Devon played with the wheel on her skin for a while longer.
Pressing firmer in some areas, which brought out a whimper from Sarah, and other times she moaned into the bed.
When he was done with the wheel, he helped her stand up and then laid her down on the bed.
He held her hands above her head, and he told her, “If you move your hands, you will be subject to a punishment of my discretion, understood?” She shook her head and replied, “Yes, Daddy.” He bent over and gently kissed her forehead.
“Good girl.” He grabbed the flogger from the table.
In precise movements, he swung it at different intensities and at different places on her body.
He would stop, praise her, and continue.
At one point, Devon leaned down, just close enough to her ear so she could hear him, and said, “You came here the other night saying you didn’t know what you wanted but were afraid that you would enjoy it too much.
Well, I am here to tell you that you are a good little whore.
Tonight, you have proven that you are such a slut for pain.
Let’s see how far your body can go.” He sat back up, slapped both of her breasts with his hand, then spat on them and massaged it in.
The scene went on for an hour that night.
Somewhere in it, she stopped tracking time.
The room had narrowed to the points where he touched her and the larger dark where he didn't, and the part of her that had spent the whole evening narrating, judging, bracing — went quiet for the first time in as long as she could remember.
She would try, later, to find the word for it.
There wasn't one. But somewhere in the floating she understood she'd reached the deeper thing she'd named to him without knowing what she was asking for — and that it was larger than she'd guessed, and that she was nowhere near the bottom of it.
There was just the floating, and his voice somewhere above it telling her she'd done well, and the strange sting of tears she hadn't expected those words to bring.
"You felt how far down it went tonight," he said afterward, when she was herself again.
"You didn't reach the bottom. You won't, here.
" He let her hear the rest before he said it.
"The bottom of it isn't in this building.
It's at my house. When you're ready to find out how deep you actually go, you'll come there.
Not before." She left knowing she would.
That was the part she carried home like a key to a door she hadn't found yet.