Clifftop Fantasies [BDSM Menage Fantasies] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (16 page)

After he had left, Allie stayed at the table for a very long time, thinking. Karl’s proposal should have repulsed and disgusted her, she knew, but instead there was something alluring about it. She imagined herself being sexually submissive to Karl. It might be wrong to think about it, but she couldn’t stop herself. There was something primal, instinctive about the need to yield to someone or something bigger and stronger. She loved Brad, but he didn’t have the strength or presence that Karl did. The idea of having someone like Karl to lean on, to guide her in the way that he’d described her father doing, was electric. It was no good wondering if her father would have been more of a mentor to her if she’d allowed it. She needed someone now, someone who was willing to take charge and help her become the businesswoman she wanted to be. She pictured herself as strong, capable, sexy, decisive, responsible. Karl had suggested that she could become those things, maybe even develop into someone who could help other people grow. She loved that idea, but before she could contemplate it, there were other things she had to come to terms with. First, there was the question of the pictures.

She realized that she was tired of the jolt of fear she always had when she thought about Brad finding out about her past, and how it had been so much worse now that they were in the house where her father, and Karl for that matter, had done the same kinds of pictures. There was a strange excitement about the idea that somewhere here, Karl was keeping safe a stash of photographs that might or might not include her. He had said that he had them, had looked at them and judged their quality. Of course the quality was mostly on the photographer’s end, but she had a stab of pride that he had considered her work to be good as well.

She needed to see those pictures, she decided finally. It was about time that she faced the fact that her heritage, and ironically, part of her own past was a celebration of sex and the human body. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of. It was time to grow up and accept her own sexuality, then and now. She might not be able to act on any of the thoughts she had about Karl, but that was no reason to hide in the house like a frightened little girl. She got up and went out to the barn.

This time he was alone. He was starting to scrape one corner of the barn in preparation for painting it. That reminded her of her drunken fantasies from the previous night, and Allie felt a little shy walking up and telling him what she wanted. But she told herself that the time for those feelings was past. She was an adult, considering running a very adult establishment, and she couldn’t ignore the subject anymore.

Before she could say anything, Karl put down his tools and led her inside, to the table in the middle of the big, open room. He pulled a chair out for her and went silently into his bedroom off the far wall.

He went back and forth bringing armloads of framed prints and cases. He put them carefully on one end of the table and began laying them out in front of her.

At first Allie was confused. How had he known that was why she’d come out here? But those thoughts fled as she looked down at the picture in front of her. She’d never seen anything so provocative, or so beautiful. Jane was featured in quite a few, but there were others with different women. Not all were as svelte and perfect as Jane, but their pictures were somehow even more attractive than hers. While Jane had a knowing look that suggested that it was really she who was in charge of the situation, the other women looked softer, more submissive, and more vulnerable. Many of the pictures featured the women tied up, or suspended from a hook in what Allie suspected was the basement ceiling. Some were naked but covered in rope tied in very intricate designs. In several, two or more women were entwined together, kissing or caressing each other. What made the photographs so special, Allie suspected, was the play of light and shadow, the angles and contours, the single focal point of each picture that emphasized some part of a body—lips, a nipple, the curve of a hip or stomach, or an expression of love and submission. She didn’t know enough about the art of photography to be a good judge, but she knew enough to recognize that this was truly spectacular work.

“They’re breathtaking,” she gasped, more to herself than to Karl, who stood behind her.

“Yes, they are,” he agreed, waiting for a minute before removing the pictures she was looking at and putting new ones out. These were a little more risqué. The women were still tied up in most of them, but some had what looked like wax over their breasts and genitals. Some had knives being held to their throats or stomachs, and some had red marks covering their asses, arms, and legs. Allie’s breath caught at these, and she snuck a look at Karl to see if she could read anything from his expression.

He was watching her appraisingly. “You probably haven’t seen anything like that before, have you?” he asked, taking a half step away from her, as if to assure her that he wasn’t planning to tie her up then and there and get out his whip collection.

She shook her head, wondering what she would do if he offered to tie her up. “What’s the purpose?” she asked, trying to mask her fascination.

He looked again at the angry-looking marks in the photograph. “There are people,” he began slowly, “who actually enjoy extreme pain. Being hit with a whip or a cane can release endorphins, and a masochist can learn to convert those endorphins into sexual pleasure or a cathartic release of pent-up emotions. Believe it or not, those women negotiated those sessions, and were very proud of the marks they carried afterwards. For many, having bruises, welts, scars, even burns and cuts, is a badge of honor.”

“Really?” Allie breathed, looking back at what looked to her more like abuse than pleasure. “And my father did that to them?”

“Yes, for many of them. I did some as well,” he said, looking through the rest of the pictures and pulling out two more, adding them to the collection on the table. Knowing that Karl had been responsible for the marks on the woman before her did something strange to Allie’s stomach. She wondered in astonishment if she could possibly be getting turned on by this display. If Brad could see this, she thought, he would run for the hills. Or rather, he’d run for the plains, where his family waited to welcome him back into the fold. She would be “the freak” that had lured him to sinful, decadent California and attempted to turn him into some kind of sexual pervert.

But she was distracted from that thought by the realization that she was getting seriously turned on. She became acutely aware of Karl standing next to her, his substantial body giving off a heat that was almost overpowering. She could feel waves of it washing over her, making her imagine dangerous and passionate encounters. Those scenes had happened here, some in the room where she was standing. He was actually offering her the opportunity to own a business where things like that could and would happen on a regular basis. Where she could be the one to make those marks on other people, bring them extreme pleasure by tying them up and hitting them. It was like some bizarre fantasy.

Karl was picking up that batch of pictures, but Allie didn’t move. She was frozen to the spot, trying to imagine taking part in those activities. Aside from the one time in her life when she’d actually used her sexuality, Allie had always kept that part of herself tightly under control. It felt now like a great, constrained reservoir just waiting to be released in order to overflow her in a tidal wave. She wasn’t sure that releasing it would be a good idea, but she also suspected she was nearing a point of no return.

Karl was putting more pictures in front of her on the table now. She looked down and saw a young girl lying on the classic fur rug. Her head was turned toward the camera, eyes closed, a slight smile on her barely parted lips. One hand was buried in the white softness at her side, the other rested on her lower abdomen, as if hesitating on the verge of pleasuring herself. The edges of the picture were out of focus and the lighting was dim, soft shadows highlighting every curve. The texture of the photograph was amazing. Allie felt as if she could reach out and stroke the skin. The hand almost seemed to be moving tentatively down to the V disappearing between her legs.

It took a few seconds before realization dawned of what she was seeing. Her breath caught, and a wave of emotion that was almost physical coursed through her body. She became even more acutely aware of Karl standing behind her. The heat he was radiating made her feel as if she was in danger of bursting into flames. A hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and his voice said softly into her ear, “What do you think?”

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Allie whispered unnecessarily. She put out a finger and touched the face that was and wasn’t hers, unable to believe she had been capable of portraying such sensuality. At that point in her life she’d only had two or three lovers. She’d known nothing of what love really was, what true passion could be like. She reflected on her sexual experiences throughout the decade since and wondered if she had any better idea now than she did then. Had she truly experienced the pleasures that the girl in the picture seemed on the brink of discovering? Tears filled her eyes as she thought about the possibility that her relationship was over, without ever having fulfilled its promise of happiness.

Karl put another picture on top of the first. This time she stood at a window. The outside light was low, and there was a soft, almost invisible reflection of her face and breast contrasting with the solid, tangible curve of her waist and hip. Again the textures played off each other, shadow and light mingling to create the perception that an outstretched finger would meet soft skin and cold glass rather than paper and ink.

Allie stared in mute fascination, blinking away tears of embarrassment and pride as Karl leaned over her shoulder, silently setting picture after picture in front of her. It was oddly but intensely intimate to be sharing this experience with him. She had to physically restrain herself from leaning into his broad, strong shoulder, wishing intensely that he would put an arm around her. She longed for the heat of another body to press herself into, but she knew that she had no right, while she was waiting for Brad’s decision, to invite Karl into any kind of physical connection. Still, she relished the knowledge that he was behind her, and the fact that they were both looking at nude pictures of herself didn’t bother her the way it might have a few days before.

Wondering how this experience could have seemed so frightening to her, she said, “They’re beautiful. Charlie’s an amazing photographer.”

Karl put the stack of pictures back into the cases they’d been stored in and sat down across from her. He folded his arms on the table with a serious expression. “Had you really never seen them before?”

She sighed. “I saw one or two at the time, but I didn’t like to look at them. I only ever saw what I thought were my own imperfections. I had no idea that they were so…artistic.”

He nodded. “I’m glad you can appreciate them now for what they are. And your father’s work. Did that bother you?”

“No.” She was surprised to hear herself say it. “They were gorgeous pictures. I always expected to be icked out by seeing my father’s erotic photography. But if you just accept them as works of art, there’s nothing disgusting about it. It’s amazing.”

“And the kinky ones?” He had a small smile now, as if she was a student who was doing brilliantly on an oral exam that he’d expected her to fail. Part of her wanted to start singing, “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain” and dance around the room.

“I need to understand that part a little better,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but it’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that some people enjoy being hurt.”

“Hurt is in the mind of the beholder,” Karl said. “Come with me tomorrow night to the club and you can see for yourself.”

Chapter 15

The club was in the warehouse district of the small town of Grandpointe. Karl drove, giving her tidbits of information about the town and watching in amusement as Allie twisted her fingers around and around in her lap.

“Nobody’s going to attack you,” he told her, laughing. “You’d have to negotiate for days to work out that kind of thing.”

He put his large hand over hers to calm her, but the heat and pressure of his touch had the opposite effect on her center. She shivered a little, looking down at the miniskirt and black lacy top that Karl had given her. It had occurred to her that she should refuse to wear them, but somehow she hadn’t been able to, even though it wasn’t uncomfortable. She hadn’t dressed like this since her teens, and she wasn’t sure that it was a good idea now. At nearly thirty, wasn’t she supposed to be a responsible adult who didn’t go to clubs and wear sexy outfits? Maybe she should have waited to hear Brad’s decision, she thought. But she needed to know if this was right for her before considering dragging Brad into it.

They pulled into a parking lot, and she looked around. It definitely wasn’t the kind of place she would have come to alone. There were a few streetlights, but most of the buildings were dark and looked as if they were deserted. Allie had a flash of panic that Karl had brought her here for some malevolent reason. It seemed silly. He’d had all kinds of chances to murder her if that was what he wanted. Maybe he was going to sell her into some kind of sex slavery.

“Before we go in,” Karl said as he turned to her, “you should decide what you want to be called. Most people don’t use their real names in the community. It’s not that we don’t trust each other, you understand. But usually it’s considered better not to know other people’s real identities. While it’s nobody else’s business what people do with other consenting adults, shit happens. Jobs, families, and reputations have been lost because of exposure. We use scene names to protect each other’s privacy.”