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Chapter Twenty-Three: Ella
Putting on myGallery uniform had become a sort of ritual. I did it slowly, mindfully, appreciating my resilient body, remembering all the creative sadists who’d done things to it. When I put on the peekaboo bra, I remembered the men who’d hurt my nipples for their pleasure—and mine. When I placed the garter belt over my hips and cinched it at the waist, I remembered the men who’d grasped my waist, who’d made me be still, or turn back around for more punishment.
Then there was my ass, a favored target for whipping or fucking. It was exposed, always exposed, framed by the back of the garter belt, offered to anyone who wanted to hurt it. The stockings and stilettos went on last, smoothed up my legs, which might be parted or punished also. When I was really aroused, my legs trembled. When I was afraid, I went weak in the knees.
And Devin would be there beside me, propping me up, looking into my eyes to be sure whatever terrifying thing was happening to me was really okay. Even if he wasn’t doing that terrifying thing, even if someone else was playing with me, in my mind it washim, because he was my sponsor and protector. My collar might sayProperty of The Gallery, but I went to The Gallery because I wanted to be with him.
After lingering over the collar, arranging the tag just so on my neck, I hurried to put on my makeup, including the mascara and eyeliner he preferred. I’d learned to apply the amount he liked, so it would run down my face in irregular streaks when a hard blowjob or spanking made the tears flow. Before we left the dungeon at the end of the night, he’d take me to the submissives’ bathroom and wipe it off, holding my chin, staring into my eyes with his particular brand of possessive mayhem.
“You can’t go out on the streets looking like this,” he’d say. “It’s too delicious.”
He would share me inside The Gallery, but not outside. His actions with Leo were proof enough of that. He couldn’t bear for any other man to hurt or control me, except with his permission. It was about dominance, not love. We didn’t feel love for each other, not really.
If I kept telling myself that, maybe I’d believe it.
When I heard Devin’s knock, I threw on my coat and opened the door. He stood there in his requisite suit, the essence of a fantasy man.
I stood back to let him in. Before I could even say hello, he had me in his arms, kissing me hard, moving a hand up to grasp my neck. There was something about being kissed and choked at the same time, something about the heady mix of affection and fear. I went limp, sagging against him, letting him steal my breath until he was satisfied and broke away.
“Hello, Ella,” he said.
I blinked, still clinging to him. “Hi. What was that for?”
“For this.” He pressed his hips against mine, letting me feel his hardening cock. “Are you ready for tonight? I feel horny as fuck.”
“I’m ready.” I laughed, not able to hide my excitement as he gripped my neck and kissed me again. He frowned this time when he pulled away.
“Where are your glasses?”
“I’ll get them, Sir.”
When I was properly bespectacled, he led me down to his car and helped me into the passenger seat. The ride to The Gallery was another opportunity to reflect, and meditate on the adventures to come. We rarely talked during this drive, as both of us were getting into our roles. By the time we arrived, he was in full Dominant mode, and I was more than ready to surrender.
The ride up in the elevator was excruciatingly sexy. He found my hand beside his, wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed.My submissive. Mine.
Somehow, it was okay to belong to him here, more okay than falling in love with him on the “outside.” Outside, there was the fear I’d develop the kind of love my father had felt for my mother, the love that would cripple me if anything ever happened to Devin. He was a pilot, there was so much danger.
Even now, you’d be devastated if he left you. Just admit it.
Yes, I’d be devastated, but I could continue my life and career without descending into a sort of madness, like my father. I wouldn’t suffer the bonds my parents had forged: marriage, family, a child…true love.
But you like to suffer. You’re a masochist.
I told my inner voice to shut up as we exited the elevator and walked into The Gallery’s lobby. Rene stood at his podium, looking as young and flawless as ever.
“Good evening, Captain Kincaid.” Rene turned and nodded at me. “Ella. Welcome to The Gallery.”
I signed and dated the usual paperwork and we made our way up the stairs, into the heaving, throbbing space that would never stop amazing me. It wasn’t just the soaring beauty of the clock tower, with its multiple levels and balcony. It was the erotic freedom of every participant there, the willingness to expose everything, and accept everyone’s body types and kinks.
In The Gallery, most of the freedom belonged to Devin. He controlled what happened to me, and where, and this night he led me to a dark, secluded corner, to a rack I’d noted many times but never experienced. The octagonal shape of the structure was reminiscent of a spider’s web, with thick, black, nylon rope wound in concentric circles from the center to the edge.
“Come here,” he said, as I eyed it dubiously. The rope pattern was so symmetric it seemed to swirl like a vortex, like a spidery black hole drawing me in. “Stand with your front to the rack and give me your leg.”
Give him my leg? I didn’t understand what he meant until he guided my leg upwards and then brought it down, being careful with my stiletto’s heel as he threaded it through gaps in the rope. When he was done, my stockinged calf had three lines of rope holding it from ankle to knee. I wasn’t uncomfortable, because the rope had some elastic to it, but I felt restricted. He did the same with the other leg, weaving it down through the ropes until that calf was bound, then tugging my feet apart and adjusting the rope bonds until my legs were spread to his satisfaction.
Wow. I was stuck. There would be no kicking or dancing around, whatever he chose to do to me. I was caught in his web.
I felt his hand on the back of my neck, tracing over my collar, then applying pressure to bend down. His other hand lifted a section of rope in the center. I was pushed through that opening to the other side of the vortex, my legs straining to maintain my balance until I was able to brace my hands on my knees. When he let go of the rope, I was caught at the waist, just above my garter belt.
