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Grace
Iclosemybedroom door behind me and suddenly I can breathe again.
There was a red ribbon tied around the doorhandle when I got here. I thought it meant there were people inside doing God knows what on my sheets, but when I listened at the door, I heard only silence. Maybe Jen or Aidan tied the ribbon to indicate that my room is off limits.
I toss my bags on the bed and then flop down next to them. My muscles twitch with residual tension. I don’t know how I should feel about all of this. I’m stunned and embarrassed by the things I’ve seen, but I’m also more turned on than I’ve ever been before.
Rolling onto my side, I rub myself through my clothes. Sharing a room doesn’t allow for much alone time, so I haven’t had many chances to release the pent-up tension I’ve gathered from gorging on BDSM stories and porn.
Now the things I’ve seen and read about online are happening right outside my door.
One thing I can say for certain is that Aidan scheduled this party tonight for a reason. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m sure he thinks I’m too young to know about this stuff, and most of the blogs I’ve been reading have age-verification disclaimers that I easily sidestepped.
But my body doesn’t care that I’m too young to practice kink. It only knows what it wants to feel, how it wants to be touched. My body longs to be handed over to a trustworthy Dominant who will demand total submission, while offering a whole new spectrum of sensation in return.
Arousal tugs at my insides like a puppet master pulls strings, making me ache and yearn for things I have no right to yearn for. I picture Aidan, somewhere in this house, doling out pleasure and pain in equal measure.
He doesn’t know I’m here, and there’s no reason he has to find out I came back early. I could easily stay in my room until everyone’s gone home, then sneak outside and ring the doorbell. It would be stupidly simple to feign ignorance about everything I’ve seen and heard tonight.
Part of me is convinced that if I were to sit down with Aidan tomorrow, he would sense my longing, just like he sensed all my other secrets. For whatever reason, my usual tricks just don’t work on him. He sees through my forced smiles, as if the defenses I’ve spent my whole life fortifying were nothing but gauze.
I’m lucky he didn’t see me when I came in. If he’d caught me watching the man getting a blow job, he’d be angry and appalled. Would he chastise me there, in front of the couple? Or would he drag me back to my room, bend me over his knee, and punish me for watching something I had no business looking at?
The fantasy weaves between my scattered thoughts until I’m all tangled up in my cravings.
I should be grateful for this secret glimpse into a world I’ve only read about, but it’s not enough to sate me. I ache to stretch and walk among the locals, to run and dance in the streets, to explore this new landscape where there are masters and mistresses, and happy submissives eager to serve and be spanked.
Maybe if I’m careful... If I keep an eye out for familiar faces and don’t draw attention to myself, I can spend a little more time downstairs at the party.
Just a few minutes. An hour tops.
I grope for the zipper on my suitcase. The man with the crop assumed I was wearing a costume, but the last thing I want to do is draw attention to my age. I rifle through my things until I find what I’m looking for: cream-colored tights. My sexiest black leotard with mesh between the bust and collar, and lace over the shoulders. The collar part hooks together at my nape, leaving most of my upper back exposed.
Combing my fingers through my hair, I separate the golden waves, wishing I had some dark-red lipstick to make me look sophisticated. Jasmine loves makeup, so I usually just borrow from her case. Since she’s not here, I have to settle for cherry lip gloss and a few dabs of tinted moisturizer on my cheeks.
I check to make sure Aidan isn’t anywhere in sight and then tiptoe out of my room.
The clang of silverware grows louder as I make my way down the back staircase, the one closer to the kitchen. I don’t recognize any of the people zooming around Paolo’s domain. I wonder if any of Aidan’s staff know what’s taking place here tonight. Jen must know. I can’t imagine him planning a party this elaborate without her assistance.
As I leave the china gallery for the dining room, I come upon a scene in progress. A naked man lies face-down on the tablecloth while four women take turns hitting him with various kitchen utensils.
I gasp as one of the women slaps on a latex glove, prompting all four of them to glance in my direction.
“S-sorry,” I stutter, as heat fills my cheeks. “Just passing through.”
A redhead wielding a silicone spatula smiles at me. “No harm done, sweetheart.”
I scurry out of the dining room and into the sitting room across the hall. The bar that usually stands unmanned in the corner is now serving drinks. I ask the bartender for something non-alcoholic and he tells me they aren’t serving any alcohol tonight, which makes sense. You wouldn’t want a bunch of drunk Dominants fumbling around with whips and chains.
The bartender serves me my sparkling lemonade in a champagne flute. I sip my drink slowly, keeping an eye out for Aidan or anyone else who looks familiar. Most of the real BDSM activity seems to be taking place in guestrooms or other designated spaces, like the gym.
If the guestrooms are intended for those who want to play in private, the gym is where they go to let their freak flags billow in the wind.
A musky scent fills the sticky, humid air—no doubt the effect of so many sweat-sheened bodies in varying stages of undress. Much of the regular gym equipment has been swapped out for other equipment, a few of which I’ve seen in porn, like the spanking bench and suspension rig for Shibari rope bondage, and others that are totally foreign.
My gaze doesn’t know where to settle as I take in all the activity in the room. I’m surrounded by bare breasts and backsides. I’ve never seen a penis in real life, and now I can hardly turn my head without finding at least one pointing straight at me.
A man eyes me curiously as he strokes himself above another man’s open mouth. My body flushes with heat. Whimpers, moans, and the firm smacks of paddles drown each other out until I can’t even hear my own thoughts. Just the wet, slippery sounds of sex, and the desperate cries of suffering.
