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“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Trust me,sweet girl,” he whispers back, seconds before I’m being lifted in the air. My ass lands with a soft thud on the not-so-soft, leather bed. Stone turns my body, which has gone lax in what I’m guessing is shock so that my legs are extended along the length of the bed. He slowly pushes me backward until I'm lying on it like an exam table. “Where are you at right now? One to five?”
“Three,” I answer right away, my stomach filling with both nerves and anticipation, but also a great deal of fear. My eyes want to focus on all of the terrifying-looking things around the room but I force them to stay on Stone’s calm, sure, piercing blue eyes.
He nods like my answer was expected. “A Sadomasochist is someone who needs to both give and receive pain and or humiliation with their pleasure. I don’t personally dabble with humiliation or degradation though. People who fall on the side of Sadism do require an outlet for their urges to hurt someone else, whether that be mentally or physically. Masochists like it when the same is done to them. The experiences do not always need to be sexual but they often are. BDSM refers to sexual preferences and behaviors involving physical restraints, an unequal power relationship, or pain, including the practice of bondage, discipline, dominance, and submission. Still with me?”
The whole time he’s reciting this information, he’s walking around the table, never breaking eye contact with me. I feel more than see the power shift, the change that happens to him inside of this room, with me on this table. The things he’s saying to me make sense, especially with me in this position. Suddenly, my overwhelming trust in this man is feeling really stupid.
I trusted Drew.
I trusted my foster father.
My eyes close and I swallow the ball of emotion as well as the massive wave of the anxiety that washes over me.
“Ella, you still with me?” Stone repeats, coming to a stop next to my head. “I know this is crazy and I’m asking a lot by having you in here and requesting your trust, but I do genuinely believe this will help you if you can get past the initial insanity of this place. I can imagine how this looks to an outsider, but if you let it happen, this room can become a sanctuary for you, as it is for me,” he says softly.
I open my eyes and once again, the look on his face alleviates a lot of my fear.
“I’m still with you,” I murmur. “But I don’t think I’m ready to be whipped,” I blurt causing him to bark out a laugh.
“Interesting that your mind went there, sweet girl, but that’s not why I’m showing you this room,” he laughs and circles the bed again, this time stopping and turning to face the wall of torture toys. Stone picks up what looks like a long rope that’s hanging on a hook before turning around. “I told you before that I am into something called Shibari which is also known as Japanese rope bondage and while for some people it is sexual, like all of this,” he waves his hand around the room, “it is mainly a form of extreme trust and bonding. I explained to you previously how a lot of people actually find comfort within the ropes or chains, or whatever material is used as bondage. I am one of them.”
Stone begins to unfurl the length of the long rope in his hands until it’s no longer bundled together.
“Some people who perform Shibari on one another find there is no greater act to draw them together and bond them. Some people find it a spiritual process or cathartic even. And some people, like you, may find that it can stop a panic attack in its tracks better than any medication can. How did you feel?”
I think about it for a moment, pushing my current nerves aside. I felt wonderful, almost, high. “Calm, relaxed, safe,” I murmur. He nods again.
“Whenever you feel like you need this, I want you to come to me. Even if I’m not there, call me or text me, and I’ll walk you through what to do, okay? If your anxiety is already high, or you feel like you’re spiraling, I don’t want you to feel like you have to handle it alone. Understood?”
“I’ll try,” I mumble, breathing deeply. “It’s not easy for me to rely on other people like that. To be,” I break off, searching for the word.
“Vulnerable,” Stone fills in knowingly. I jerk a nod, biting my lip. “I understand, more than you know,” he murmurs. “Do you know what a safe word is?” I shake my head, suddenly finding the task of speaking to be difficult. “When people participate in acts of BDSM, safe words need to be identified, even if the act is not of sexual nature. Some people use colors, some people find certain words of comfort that they would prefer to use. Regardless, we need to identify and define three. I like to use green, yellow and red. The words are used to alert whoever is involved of their partner's comfort level. One word informs everyone without further explanation. Make sense?”
“Yes,” I reply, though I’m beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed.
“Green means everything is good, yellow means pause or proceed with caution, and red would mean stop. Let’s say I had tied you up and I wanted to check in and see how you were doing. If you’re feeling great and want to continue, you would say green. If your anxiety was getting worse or the ropes were pinching in an area or maybe you were reaching your pain threshold but weren’t quite there, you would say yellow. We would pause or make adjustments. And if you were at your limit, no matter what that may be, or you wanted to be done for any reason, you would say red and everything would stop, no questions asked.”
“Stone,” I say gently, getting his attention and pausing his instructions. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
He hesitates for a moment before looking down at the rope in his hands and squeezing it tightly. Finally, after what feels like forever, he lifts his eyes and with a serious but determined expression, replies, “Because I’d like to tie you up, Ella. In this room. Right now.”
My breath becomes shallow with his admission. My eyes dart around the room once again. Inhere?My eyes land back on Stone, on the rope in his hands. Right now?
I swallow.
Of course, he does. What else would we be doing in here?
“Just tie me up? None of the other stuff?” I croak, making him chuckle. The sound is like a balm to my nerves.
“Is that all you want me to do?” he rumbles, his eyes raking over my body on his torture table. “I’d be happy to oblige any other requests.”
My heart hammers at the thought. I close my eyes against the onslaught of emotions, and visions that flicker through my mind. Me, on this bed, naked and tied up for him, trusting him to take care of me, knowing that he can. Him, bringing me pleasure in ways only he can deliver.
Pain.
He likes to give pain.
