Deep in the Woods (2 page)
“Sophie. I’m so glad you came out. We’ve missed you.”
She looked down and bit her lip. “Well…”
“Are you coming out later? To the play party at the Studio?”
“I might. I’m not sure.”
“Are you seeing anyone new?” Jerry’s eyes flicked to Dave’s momentarily before darting back to Sophie’s rather spectacular rack. She made a quiet negative sound, shaking her head and looking out at the other guests at the munch.
“Well, all in good time,” said Jerry, tearing his gaze from her chest. “There’s no hurry to get back out there.”
“No.” She clasped her hands together on the table. “I really just came out to see what everyone’s been up to.”
Jerry launched into some of the local goings-on and she listened, sipping her drink. Since she was distracted, Dave took the opportunity to finally stare. God, her hair was so black. Her skin so pale. Her lips so red. Holy fuck, he was sitting next to Snow White. And she wore white—a slim-fitting T-shirt over dark jeans. Would she let him photograph her? What would he see in the darkroom when he developed her photos? What would he see in her eyes? He would have to use film with her. Digital would be too cold, too stark. He would have to use film and chemicals to draw shades of meaning from the planes of her face, from the depths of her blue-black hair, from those eyes…those eyes… He would…he would…
Jesus, she was leaving. Her knee bumped his again as she pushed her chair back. He had to stand to let her pass. He hoped she was just going to get some food or go to the ladies’ room. He watched her stalk out the same way she’d stalked in, her eyes shuttered, her chin held high. She was subjected to the same silent stares. No, she wasn’t coming back.
He turned to Jerry. “Nice girl.”
“Yes. A very sweet girl. Been in the community for several years now.”
Dave waited for him to say more, but Jerry’s voice trailed off and he turned his attention to someone else. Dave finished his food and made his way to a group of friends in the opposite corner, skirting Lara, who frowned at him. No, he didn’t feel like talking to her now.
“Darling, come give me a kiss.” Madame M was a statuesque Domme he’d had the pleasure to photograph on several occasions. “I see you met the little bitch. She surfaces every so often.”
“M.” Veronica, an older, motherly woman, scolded her. “That’s not very kind of you.”
“Well, that’s what she is.”
“She’s not the only bitch in this group,” said a Dom named Clark, frowning at M. “Sheathe your claws. I think it took a lot of courage for her to show up here.”
“That girl I was talking to? With the black hair?” asked Dave, confused. “She didn’t seem like a bitch.”
“Sophie,” said Madame M, waving her hand in irritation. “Too good to play by the rules. You know it’s true, Clark.”
“The jury is out on whether it was her or him who broke the rules,” Clark retorted.
“It was him,” Veronica interjected. Veronica was a longtime slave with a soft heart and a surprisingly sharp tongue. “He was the one who was all about no limits, and that consensual non-consent nonsense.”
“And she was the one who agreed to it,” said Madame M. “She was the one who stayed with him when everyone tried to help her. That was her decision. She made her bed.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Dave. “I’m lost.”
Clark turned to him. “Last year Sophie started seeing a man named…what was his name?”
“Depraved,” said Veronica with a frown.
“Yes, Depraved. No one knew his real name. Anyway, he was an abuser. A fake. We all told her. We all knew what was going on. They came together to the munches, the play parties, and the things he did to her—the way he treated her—”
“Sophie let him treat her that way,” M said with a wag of her finger. “We tried to step in. I did step in on several occasions, and was told by Sophie to fuck off.”
Clark shook his head. “It was a terrible situation. One night at Studio Erotica, he went too far with her. Master Lawrence and Lady Marie called the police, and still Sophie did nothing. Wouldn’t make a statement, wouldn’t press charges. Nothing changed. The police started showing up at all the local fetish events, even to any play parties we advertised online. They were always hovering around because of this thing with Sophie and Depraved.”
“She’s just an attention whore,” Madame M said. “Before Depraved, there was that other one, you remember?”
“But he wasn’t as bad,” said Veronica.
“Well, he was bad enough. Anyway,” M continued, “eventually Sophie and Depraved were not welcome at the munches and parties anymore. They were blacklisted from Studio Erotica. Lawrence and Marie had to do it, otherwise the police would have found a way to shut them down.”
They all fell silent. Dave looked from one face to the other. “Then what? What happened?”
“Well,” said M. “They disappeared. We didn’t know. None of us knew what was going on until it was too late. Sophie’s parents came sniffing around, saying their daughter hadn’t contacted them in weeks. Again, the cops were all over us. No one knew who this ‘Depraved’ character was, where he lived, where he worked. No one had seen them, but the cops were at every venue, at every event looking for Sophie. Sophie’s father is some high-placed local businessman or something—”
“That wasn’t the point, that the cops were everywhere,” said Clark. “So you had to answer a few questions. What about her?” He turned to Dave. “They found Sophie when she turned up in the emergency room. She had been abused. Drugged.” He went silent, searching for words. “Broken. She was a mess. She might have died.” He scowled at M. “No one would have asked to be treated like that. So calling her a bitch—”
“She was a bitch. She made trouble for a lot of people—”
“I cried,” said Veronica. “I felt so guilty.”
“Exactly.” Madame M frowned. “We all felt guilty, but it was none of our faults. And when she failed again and again to report him, she endangered every other submissive in Atlanta, because he didn’t go away. He hasn’t gone away. She never did bring any charges against him, although as far as I know, he’s gone to ground. He couldn’t come anywhere near any munch or club in Atlanta without getting beaten to a bloody pulp, that’s for sure.”
Dave thought that sounded like a good time, beating to a bloody pulp a man who had put Sophie in the hospital. A man who had done it in the name of BDSM. A “sadist”. That’s probably what this “Depraved” imagined himself. A kinky sadist, just like Dave, only he hadn’t known when to stop. He remembered how Jerry, a “daddy dom”-type player, had scowled at him as he’d chatted Sophie up. Jerry had probably thought,
Oh, no, she can’t fall into the hands of another sadist. Not on my watch.
But there were sadists, and then there were sociopaths.
“So why do you think she came back?” Dave asked.
“Lonely, maybe?” offered Veronica.
“God, I can’t imagine why she would show her face here,” said M with a snort. “You saw the reception she got. Just needs more attention, I suppose.”
Well, she had gotten Dave’s attention. She definitely had his attention now.
Chapter Two
Sophie moved to the side in the hallway to let her neighbor pass. He lived right across from her, but she didn’t think he even knew who she was. She recognized him. When she was sure he was gone, she dug in her purse for her keys and let herself into her small apartment. She was so suspicious of everyone now. She thought she might have post-traumatic stress disorder after all. Or some other complicated syndrome that her parent-appointed therapist explained to her while she zoned out on the leather couch. Damn, she thought she probably had a session next week. If she didn’t go, her dad would come bother her. Maybe she could pretend she had work.
She dropped her bag and collapsed on the sofa. She felt like shit. What was wrong with her? Why had she gone to the munch? They all judged her and made her feel even worse than she felt when she was alone.
Maybe she had just wanted to show them. Show them that she had survived, and that she had every right to be there, as much right as they had. They were, after all, her people. If she belonged anywhere, she belonged among them. Maybe she had made things complicated for the group for a while. But they were just like her, exactly like her, deep inside. They liked power exchange, and most of them liked sadomasochism too. Hell, half of them liked it harder than she did. Who were they to judge?
She stood up and went to the mirror. She was still Sophie. She had gone into the woods for a while, but she’d come back out again. She’d survived. The scars she had were mostly hidden when she had her clothes on. She wasn’t going to take her clothes off, not ever again.
Well, maybe if she found the right person. But it would have to be a really special person. Someone she could really trust. Someone safe.
Safe.
Her mind wandered again to the man who’d sat beside her at the munch. She hadn’t seen him before, not since she met Barry and ended up out of the group. If she’d seen him she would have remembered. Dave. He had such a masculine, sculpted face, a tan healthiness and fitness that was instantly attractive. His sensual lips and mouth made her have
thoughts
about him, and he had the most beautiful hazel eyes. But what did that mean? That didn’t mean he was safer or more trustworthy than anyone else. But he’d also had lovely, soft-looking, chestnut-brown hair she wanted to run her fingers through, and long, strong legs that he’d bumped her with twice. Probably not intentionally. Well, perhaps she’d intentionally bumped him the second time. And his hands…he was a nail biter. His nails had been bitten practically to the quick. She’d looked at his hands because she couldn’t look at his face. His face, his easy smile, his kind laugh had made her start to think…start to think that maybe she might…
No. Not anytime soon. She was lonely, but she wasn’t that lonely yet. For all she knew, he was a sub himself. You could never really tell, not really. He certainly hadn’t been pulling any domly crap with her. But then neither had Barry the first time they met. He had been very quiet and circumspect, all the harsh reality hidden underneath a handsome exterior. What was hidden underneath Dave’s polite, humorous veneer?
There was no way to tell. That was the really scary thing. Sophie looked at herself in the mirror, started to brush out her hair, thinking how strange it was that you could look right in someone’s eyes and still not be certain what was going on in there. You never really knew. And when you did finally know, sometimes you found yourself in a position you might not have chosen if you had known how things would really be. But then of course, sometimes it was too late. Sometimes you realized it was just too, too late and you were truly fucked.
She put the brush down with a clatter on the countertop and gripped the edge of it. Past.
Past.
Let bygones be bygones. She took a deep breath and willed the heavy pounding in her chest to subside. She swallowed down the hot panic, the tight ball of emotion in her throat. There was nothing to be done about it now, except to go on living. She should pull herself together and show up for the play party. She should ease back into the community. It would be a good thing.
She pulled out a black dress and black tights. Low-heeled Mary Jane shoes. She wanted to blend in. She wanted to go, watch, soak in the scene, but not play. She didn’t really want to be approached, although she figured no one would approach her judging from the way they’d acted at the munch. Jerry had been nice to her, but then he had always been protective of her. It was sweet, but she knew it was only because he wanted her. She wasn’t looking for a daddy-type thing, though. She wasn’t looking for
nice
.
But she wasn’t looking for psycho either. There had to be some middle ground there.
She applied makeup, dark eyeliner and crimson lipstick. She even painted her nails. It was nice to feel human again, to feel alive and pretty. If she wanted to dress up, she could. She could smile at whomever she wanted to smile at, and chat with whomever she chose. No one could make her do anything, at least for now. At least until she chose to give someone that power again. And she knew she eventually would, because that was just the way she was.
* * * * *
It was ladies’ night at Studio Erotica so they let Sophie in without a cover charge. The play party was already rollicking along. Studio Erotica was a full-service dungeon, one that Sophie and Barry had played at often before they were driven away. She had always loved the decor—dark plum and crimson velvet drapes, goth art and iron candlesticks on the wall. Tapestries and velvet-upholstered sofas and divans. Campy? Sure. But effective. The low trance music was the perfect background to the moans and squeals of Studio’s patrons, already entrenched in erotic scenes.
So much skin. Sophie wanted to look but she wasn’t quite ready yet. She made a detour into the lounge area, but there was nowhere to sit. She scooted into a corner and looked around at everyone enjoying themselves. The chatter and laughter was kept respectfully low, but all the faces were smiling. Sophie had always loved it here. People came to Studio Erotica for one reason and one reason only—to have fun and feel good. From the lounge, Sophie could barely see a male sub bent over a spanking bench, being lovingly, if harshly, paddled by his mistress. She saw a woman in the back being hooked up to the footboard of huge iron bed. The tall bedposts had so many attachment points it was almost funny. Sophie had always been fascinated by that bed. She used to watch submissives and slaves being fixed to it and imagine the endless permutations of how it could be done. Sophie had never been tied to the bed. When Barry had played with her at the dungeon, he’d used the cross or the stocks. He had always bound her tightly, because he’d always played with her hard.
