Love Bound (38 page)

Whoever he was, he was taller than
Steve, with better muscles, though he was no gym-bunny; his shoulders were
narrow and his whole look sleek and slender rather than buff. Didn’t they call
that a “swimmer’s build”? He was tan, with a strange, jagged tattoo like a
collar around his neckbone. His hair was lush and long, hanging to the middle
of his back. He could have just been some kid on some latter-day hippie
trip…the thing was, though, he had on eye-shadow. When he lifted a hand to
nervously smooth down his hair, his nails flashed red. Steve looked reflexively
down to the guy’s feet; his long toes had been polished as well.

This
was what Julie was into now? A more unsettling question:
was this what she’d expect of
him
this afternoon? Makeup and nail-polish
for a little “girl-on-girl” action? His reference to Julie’s “pussy-boys” had
just been a joke—or so he had thought.

Oh no. No, fuck no. Fuck this
.

Smiling tightly, Steve turned and made
for the door.

“Leaving so soon?”

The voice was surprisingly deep; it
had a smoker’s roughness, but you could hear the kid trying to make it softer,
lighter.
More like a girl’s voice
. Steve all but shuddered. He didn’t
turn around.

The voice
tsk
ed. “Aw, but you
didn’t get to finish your drink…or cum.”

Steve stopped in his tracks. He could
hear a faint taunt in that voice, something like a challenge.
Oh yeah. Like
I’m going to step to some drag-queen
.

“Not my game, man. Alright?”

“Alright. But how are you going to
leave without your clothes?”

Steve stopped again.

“Julie has them,” he said carefully,
resisting the urge to add, “
Doesn’t she
?”

“Mmn-hmn. And if you ask her nicely,
I’m sure she’ll give them to you.” The guy stood with his hands behind his
back, smiling with his head tilted. For the first time Steve looked at him
dead-on and saw his cock; it was more than half-erect.

Alright. Ignoring
that…

There was a good chance the guy was
right. He remembered Julie saying she had something to attend to. Might that
something perchance involve gathering up Steve’s clothes and shoes and hiding
them somewhere? Somewhere he wouldn’t be likely to find even if he ransacked
the house, which of course he could not—at least not without the danger of
being kicked in the balls.

It would be just like Julie to pull a
stunt like that; it would force him to either play by her rules or to throw a
tantrum. Neither prospect appealed to him. He went to the table and got his
wine.

“Can I have one?” The guy seemed
determined to push his luck, but Steve poured him a glass. The quickest way to
get through this was not to resist…at least not anything that didn’t involve
the application of mascara.

So here I am drinking wine with some
guy who’d probably be in drag if he weren’t naked, right before hooking up with
a chick I balled in college…who’s now a dominatrix. How the hell do I get
myself into this shit
?

After the first few swallows the
silence got to Steve. “So how do you know Julie…?” He didn’t really want to
know, but it was something to say.

The guy’s eyes widened, his eyebrows
lifting comically.

“I mean, is this like a regular thing
with you…what she does? Or…”

The guy coughed into his fist.

Steve frowned; he was being shushed. Suddenly
he smelled perfume; he started as cold fingers slid around his waist.

“I really should have started doing
sessions barefoot more often. It’s wonderful to be able sneak up on naughty
subs.”

Steve forced a smile. “I smelled you
coming.”

“Ohhh,” the guy laughed, swirling his
wine. “Gonna pay for
that
…”

Julie smiled and snapped her fingers,
at the last minute converting the motion to a sharp downward jab. “On the
floor,” she said.

“Oh, but
he’s
the one who
said
it…”

“And you were the one who laughed. Steve,
have you met naughty slavegirl Daniela yet? Well, she’s
very
naughty. If
you think I smell, naughty girl, I think you should get a really good whiff.”

Pouting, occasionally breaking into a
grin, “Daniela” got down on the floor, stretching himself out so his head
rested near Julie’s bare feet. He began lapping at her toes, like small,
starving dog, occasionally turning his eyes up in reproach.

Julie smiled. “Oh, you love it,” she
told him. Turning to Steve, she glared, first at him, then at the untouched
snifter on the table.

“I believe I told you to get me a
drink at some point. I didn’t just say
pour
me a drink, I meant get it
for me. Hand it to me nicely.”

“Yeah…listen, I think I’m gonna go.”

“Are you? I’m sorry to hear that.” He
hadn’t exactly expected tears, but Steve was nonplussed by the impassive
response.

“Yeah. So if you’ll just…” He
gestured. “My clothes,” he finished weakly.

“What about them? I’m still waiting
for my brandy, by the way.”

“Come on, Julie…”

She laughed suddenly, startling him
into silence. “Tickling!” she said, mock-sternly, rapping Daniela’s head with
her knuckles. “We don’t tickle Mistress when we’re worshipping her toes, do
we?” Daniela smirked like a naughty child.

“Where are my clothes?” Steve
demanded, as calmly as he could manage. “You said before I could put my clothes
on and leave if I wanted to. And doesn’t your web-site say ‘All Limits
Respected?’ Well, I’ve reached
my
limit.”

Julie shrugged off the comment. “I put
your clothes away, since you weren’t wearing them.”

“Gee, thanks. Look, I’m not going to let
you do to me whatever it is you do to your slaves. Or your slavegirls, or
whatever
he
is.” Daniela, on the floor, continued tongue-washing Julie’s
feet with no sign of having heard Steve’s remark.

“You stripped for me readily enough. I
certainly didn’t force you.”

“That doesn’t…just give me my clothes
back, alright?”

“Alright, I will. After we have our
drink. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

She seated herself and picked up the
brandy. “There. I didn’t even order you to hand it to me. Got it myself. Like a
big girl. Sit with me, Steve. Drink. How have you been? How are the kids?”

“I don’t…”

“How’s the wife?”

“I’m not married…”

“How’s the job? Hoo boy, bet the Old
Man’s really busting your chops on that Henderson account.”

Steve felt his cheeks growing warm. “You
don’t know anything about me! Where the hell do you get off treating me like
some…”

“Some yuppie asswipe?” Her voice and
face both were hard, emotionless. “Some corporate drone?”

“Fuck you. Give me my clothes and I’ll
leave. If you don’t give them to me, I’ll go find them myself. But I’m not
going to sit here while you fucking insult me.”

“Me insult
you
? You come here
all eaten up with curiosity about my lifestyle. You thought I was a nothing in
college, but I was available, and I was skinny enough to be fuckable in your
eyes. So it was one night and goodbye, so you could get your ass to business
school and get rich. Now you find out I’m a lifestyle dominant and you couldn’t
get here fast enough to check out the freakshow. But now the playing-field has
changed, and you want to take your balls and go home. Just like…”

“Like what? Like your tricks?”

She got up and left the room, moving
quickly, not looking at him. Daniela—who had not once stopped licking her feet
during the exchange, folded his arms on the floor, and, sighing, lay his chin
on them.

“You know,” he said, “I’m not getting
in your business or anything, but you might not want to call the other subs
‘tricks.’ I mean, first of all, they’re not prostitutes, man. They’re really
not. And she really has a thing about that. I mean, more than most dommes.”

Steve said nothing.

Daniela shut his eyes. “I shouldn’t
have come today, you know? She said it was alright, but I knew it was a bad
idea. I knew.”

Still silent, Steve stood glaring at
the empty doorway until Julie appeared in it again. His clothes and shoes had
been folded neatly and lay across her arms. Her eyes were fixed on a point over
his shoulder.

He took the stack of clothes from her,
the trousers and shirt that now seemed so vital to his identity. The heat of
his anger had faded enough to let him realize how relieved he was to have them
back. Somewhere lurking in the back of his mind had been a dim fear that he
would be prevented from leaving, that he would be made a prisoner. No, not a
prisoner, but a slave. He saw himself naked in eye-shadow and nail-polish,
crouched on the floor at Julie’s feet like an animal. He buttoned his shirt up
quickly, as though afraid it would suddenly be stripped from his back.

“Do one thing for me,” Julie said
suddenly.

“What is it?” Steve wasn’t quite ready
to apologize, but he was feeling bad now; an opportunity to make amends
appealed to him.

“Come with me for a moment. Daniela,
stay
.”

Steve followed her, carrying his
shoes. She led him to a large, high-ceilinged room. There was a thing in there
like an enormous padded table, and Gothic-looking candle-stands, and hooks on
the wall for a vast assortment of paddles and pointed metal things that Steve
didn’t like looking at too closely. If he had still been naked, he would have
been seriously freaked out.

Julie spoke quietly. Steve noticed she
still wasn’t looking at him. “Help me with Daniela.”

“What do you mean
help
you with
him?”

“Relax. I owe him a session. If you’re
not sticking around, you might as well give me a hand. It won’t take long. All
I want you to do is light these candles and put on some music when I give the
signal. Then stand nearby, close enough so he can see you during the session.”

Steve frowned. “Why? Are you afraid
he’ll try something?”

“Daniela? God no. I’ve known him for
years. He made most of my equipment—he’s a carpenter. He made the bondage table
over there. He did it in exchange for free sessions with me. But he likes
having a man watch him submit. He’s bi. It turns him on. Starting to get the
picture?”

Steve wasn’t sure whether he was or
not. The idea of being part of another man’s sexual excitement wasn’t anything
that felt natural to him. He thought about asking if the whole thing were
legal, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t go over particularly well.

“Are you…I mean, what’s going to
happen exactly?”

“No way of knowing until the session
gets underway. Daniela isn’t into extreme scenes, so don’t worry about that. There
won’t be any screaming or blood…or other bodily fluids,” she added. She finally
turned to look at him, one eyebrow arched.

“Alright,” Steve said finally. “I’ll
do it, what the hell.”

“Good. There’s a lighter over on that
shelf. Get started lighting candles and then just hang out by that little boom-box
thingie. I’ll give you the signal to turn it on.” With that she turned her back
on him, padding briskly back to Daniela.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said sourly,
and got to work on the candles. Most of them were in tall glass jars, some
imprinted with religious iconography—a Virgin Mary, a Christ weeping tears of
blood. Once he lit them Steve did his best to ignore them. He stationed himself
next to the boom-box and waited.

A moment later Daniela entered the
room. He was blindfolded with a black cloth and his hands had been bound behind
his back. He walked slowly, taking firm, measured steps.

Julie followed on his heels. She had
put on a pair of spike-heeled pumps and a black leather jacket. She caught his
eye and lifted her hand. Steve nodded and hit PLAY on the cassette-player. Deep
voices filled the room, droning and chanting. It sounded medieval, like monks
at a mass.

What the fuck is all this Catholic
stuff
? he wondered. As
far as he could remember, Julie had never been particularly religious.

Julie had Daniela kneel to her and
pressed her high-heeled foot onto his naked thigh. It looked to Steve like the
heel’s point was pressing dangerously close to his groin area.

Daniela whispered something. Steve
couldn’t make out exactly what he said, but his voice was soft and urgent…he
didn’t sound much like a woman now, but in the candle-lit room he looked very
like one.

“You can kiss them later,” Julie said,
her voice sharp. She sounded theatrical, as though she wanted to be heard a
long distance away. She leaned forward and caressed his chest, running her
nails over Daniela’s nipples. “There’s someone here,” she told him. Now she
sounded teasing, almost unpleasantly so. “Did you know that, slave Daniela? Someone
is watching you.”