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He chuckled at my expression and went to sit behind the desk. He looked perfect there, a relaxed, suave jewelry tycoon’s son in his old-world library of loveliness. What was I doing here? I was so far out of my league, for both sex and pain.
“I don’t know the difference between any kinds of energy,” I said, clasping my hands in front of me. “I must have missed that day of class.”
He reached to touch one of the pendulums, his large finger stroking the polished surface. Upon closer inspection, I realized the one he touched was smooth, dark wood, while the others were silver and brass.
“Kinetic energy is energy possessed by an object in motion,” he said. “Like the hands of a watch, or the car you arrived in.” He flicked the silver pendulum, the one in the middle, sending it back and forth on its filament wire. His fingers moved back toward the wood pendulum.
“Potential energy is energy an object possesses because of its position relative to some other object.” This time, his hand lingered just beside it. “That energy doesn’t exist until it’s set in motion. Of course, all objects don’t have the same potential energy.” He flicked the wood pendulum but it didn’t move as far, or with the sweeping acceleration of its shiny silver neighbor.
“That’s very scientific,” I said, watching the pendulums swing back and forth. At his gestured invitation, I sent the brass one flying. It went higher and faster than the silver or wood, but that was probably because I flicked it too hard. “I guess you have to know about physics and motion to design watches,” I said.
“It helps,” he replied in one of his lazy understatements.
I sent all the pendulums going again, trying to make them line up so they moved forward and back in unison. It didn’t work, so I stopped them and tried again, but they weren’t even close.
“Do you know the unit of measurement for energy?” he asked.
I thought a moment. “Watts? Kilowatts?”
“No. That’s power.”
“E equals MC squared?” It was the only other science-y thing I could recall.
Another chuckle. “You’re getting closer. But no. Energy is measured in Joules.”
“Jewels?”
“Not gems, Juliet. J-o-u-l-e-s.” He set all three pendulums in motion, nearly in perfect tandem. “Considering the energy you put out, Joules would be an appropriate nickname for you.”
Not just handsome, but devastatingly charming. I tried to hide my growing infatuation, since that wasn’t part of the plan. “Goodluck says I should change my name to Starcomet.”
He nodded and stood. “I can see that. But I prefer Sparkles. I think that fits you best of all.” The pendulums started to slow, sending their arcs out of rhythm. I stared at them because I couldn’t find the courage to stare at him.
“What about your nickname?” I said.
“I already have one. Fort.”
I think that fits you best of all.He was like a fort: tall, strong, impregnable. Relatively safe.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded. “Definitely, yes.”
“Yes, Sir.When we’re exchanging power, I prefer to be addressed as Sir.”
“Oh, okay. Yes, Sir.”
“You know that I’m going to hurt you badly?” he said, and it had the tone of a final warning. “I won’t harm or maim you. But what we do tonight will feel awful to you, and I won’t stop when I see tears.”
Tears. Our first real session, and he intended to make me cry. He couldn’t wait to make me cry. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his rough voice, that he desired my tears with lustful intensity. I was potential energy, waiting to be acted upon by an opposing force, by this beautiful, dark-haired sadist. Whenever someone called me Jules after today, I’d think of Joules and remember this talk.
“What will make you stop?” I asked in a quiet voice. “If tears won’t work, or safe words, how will you know if you have to stop our scene?”
“I’ll know,” he said. “Your body will tell me more reliably than any safe word could.”
The pendulums came to a stop as he took my elbow. With a gentle nudge, he turned me toward a door in the back. I’d thought it was a closet, but when he opened it, it led into another, equally sized room. Instead of bookshelves, there were dark wood racks and cabinets that held an array of metal and leather gear. I was standing in a Dominant’s torture chamber, located just through the nondescript door behind his desk.
I took a breath, studying my surroundings. Fort’s dungeon was an expansive room composed of polished siding and black furniture, some of it with gilt shading. Real gold? The ceiling had thick, exposed beams embedded with large eyebolts every yard or so. A pair of leather cuffs dangled from chains near a high, small window that was just big enough to suggest open sky and freedom to a bound victim. The lights were low and stayed low, impeding my attempts to study the implements on the wall.
