The Art of Redemption (2 page)

“We get a lot of curious young individuals in here, Mr. Young, but this isn’t a playground and I’m not a babysitter. I want to be absolutely clear about something: tonight you’re only allowed to watch. Feel free to ask as many questions as you like, but if you’re in anyway disrespectful or try to engage any of the women physically, you’ll be asked to leave and never
be allowed back.”

Dylan’s mouth parted in surprise. He wasn’t the type of person to act immaturely and frankly, he was offended that just because of his age, Kerian would assume such a thing. He had been taking care of himself for nearly seven years and he didn’t need a fucking babysitter. He took in a deep breath as they stood toe-to-toe, but he swallowed his pride and reminded himself that it wasn’t personal. Anyway, he wasn’t about to leave just yet. Not when the sound of a woman’s screams could be heard emanating from the back room.

“I understand,” he gritted his teeth.

“Good. I hope you find my little club pleasurable. So what fetishes
are you interested in?”

The question perplexed
him. Though bondage had always appealed to him, he wasn’t
into
anything except art and getting laid whenever possible. Not quite sure how he should respond, he shrugged his shoulders and confessed, “I’ve always liked the idea of tying a woman up.”

Kerian nodded and gave Dylan his first smile. “You’ll see plenty of that here.”

After being introduced to his designated tour guide and basically being politely told t
o keep his hands to himself, his mouth shut during a scene and to hold all questions until it was over, he was led back to the area where the disquieting sounds were coming from. Faced with a small, masked man wielding a flogger against the very woman who had given him the card, his mouth gaped open in surprise.

Sexual arousal burned low in his gut and worked its way toward his groin. He tried to talk his dick out of stiffening, but it was no use. Ta
ngled emotions surged through his head and heart. On one hand he wanted to jump in and save the damsel in distress, however, she looked as if she was enjoying it. But more prevalent was his feeling of jealousy for not being the one inflicting the pain on her. Was it wrong for him to feel like this? It didn’t feel wrong. It felt good to imagine himself on the giving end of a lashing.

A glistening sheen of sweat covered the nearly nude woman as moans of delight slipped past her lips
, causing his heart to hammer in his chest and his shaft to become fully erect. Forcing himself to redirect his attention, Dylan eyed the other patrons in the room and studied their expressions. Light and shadows on the wall danced to the flickering flames from nearby candles making it difficult to discern their faces, but from what he could see, they were all just as mesmerized and turned on as he was, making him feel at ease.

The shrouded man laid down the leather implement and worked his stubby fingers over Catalina’s body while whispering into her ear. Dylan moved closer, dying to know the words being spoken, but felt a firm hand on his shoulder halting him.

“Someday you’ll get your turn,” he heard Kerian over his shoulder.

Someday
wasn’t good enough. He wanted to know everything there was about this place and the goings on
now.
He yearned to be educated on how to use the flogger, the whips and all of the things hanging on the wall just within view.

T
he ultimate power of domination and submission.

He needed to experience
what was written about on the card Catalina had slipped into his pocket -– the thing that turned out to be the best birthday gift anyone had ever given him.

Watching as the man
removed her shackles, her question popped into his head.
Are you into this sort of thing?
No, he wasn’t, but he wanted to be.

***

Isabel

Walking quickly to the bus station, Isabel’s anxiousness was making
it nearly impossible to focus on anything except each step in front of her. With her duffle bag slung over her shoulder, she approached the ticket booth.

“Where to?” the woman behind the glass asked.

“The furthest place I can go one-way on three hundred dollars.”

The woman typed on the computer and gave her a number of options. She pondered for a moment while glancing over her shoulder nervously, fearful she would see her father coming to snatch her away and drag her back home to face his cruel wrath. She had never been to any of the places mention
ed but one was as good as another so long as it was a thousand miles away from Papa.

With h
er ticket in hand and seated on a long bench, she waited for her bus. Reaching into her coat pocket, she dug out her diploma and read it over again just to make sure it was real. There had barely been enough time to steal her birth certificate and she was almost caught in the act of trying to do so, but luckily, she had managed to get her hands on it and stuff it away in her pocket, too.

A large
bus outside screeched to a halt and when she heard her boarding number, she loaded herself on. Only when it was in motion and the lights of Atlanta were no longer in sight did she allow herself to finally relax. Tears of joy filled her eyes and for the first time since she was a child, she smiled; the sensation foreign on her lips. She was really free of her father and with Atlanta only a fading memory, Denver would be her new home.

Dylan

An intense background check and
several rounds of interviews were required of all applicants to the Dark Asylum and Dylan was no exception. He had waited more than a month since his first visit to the club to start his training to be a Dom. Six unbearably, fucking long weeks to be exact until someone became available to show him the ropes so to speak. And that
someone
was going to be none other than Kerian. He had lucked out that his originally planned mentor had a family emergency to deal with and that the well-respected and long-time Dom and slave owner would be sharing his wisdom. When Catalina volunteered to be the sub he could experiment with, he felt he had really hit the jackpot.

Every spare moment
in the waiting weeks had been spent at the club, watching and taking mental notes on everything he was seeing and overhearing. Like a sponge, he soaked it all up. All of the men exuded the kind of prowess and power that he longed to possess himself. And the submissives… hot damn. As he recalled the first time he met Catalina, he remembered thinking she was acting smugly, but what he had mistaken for arrogance was simply confidence. Not only was she and the women at the club beauty personified, but they all radiated a kind of physical awareness of their own bodies and sexuality that was stunning to see. Their self-assurance, yet meek and subservient attitude was something he had been attracted to since getting his first taste of pussy.

H
is nights away from the club were no longer spent wasting time jerking off to porn and seeking out his next lay, but doing online research and reading everything he could about the BDSM lifestyle. It had become his new obsession and, other than art, there was nothing else in his world that captured his attention quite so completely.

As he stood at the back of a crowd watching an intense double penetration scene that was taking place behind a pane of privacy glass, he heard Kerian’s whispered voice over his shoulder.

“One of the most beautiful things in the world is to share something that belongs to you with someone who will cherish it as much as yourself.”

Dylan supposed that was true enough, but he wasn’t fond of the idea of sharing
anything
, let alone something as precious as a woman. Call him greedy. He didn’t give a shit. If he ever had his own submissive, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be loaning her out. It would have to be one special person for him to ever consider doing such a thing.

Then again, it was
thrilling to imagine having a woman so completely under his control and command that she would do anything or
anyone
he told her to. His cheeks heated at his wicked thoughts but he quickly shook off his hesitation. He hadn’t learned much yet about this lifestyle, but he knew enough to realize that nothing was considered too taboo to consider.

Guiding Dylan away from the scene, Kerian walked him over to a secluded area of the club. With Dylan seated in a high-back, black velvet chair, Kerian sat across from him with one leg crossed over his knee
as he gave him an intense, quizzical look.

“What are you afraid
of, Mr. Young?”

The question momentarily stunned him. He was afraid of a lot of things. Like the unknown or
finding out about the events surrounding his parents deaths. Sitting up straight, he puffed his chest out. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

Kerian’s fingers curled around the stem of a wineglass filled with ice
water that sat on a nearby table. Bringing the goblet to his mouth, he peered at Dylan over the edge as his eyes darkened. “Everyone has fears,” he sipped on the water and set it back down. “To not face them or at minimum, acknowledge them is not only detrimental to your mental health, but it puts everyone who you are exerting your dominance on, at risk. Knowing your fears means knowing your limits. It’s the very thing we teach submissives.”

Dylan rubbed his hand across the nape of his neck and let out a
n agitated sigh. He answered the way he thought he was expected to. He thought Doms were supposed to be fearless and unflinching. He thought…

Kerian stood and his thoughtful expression turned to a frown. Crossing his arms over his chest, he shook his head. “Maybe you’re not ready for this.”

Dylan whipped his head up and glared at him. “I
am
ready,” he spoke firmly.

Kerian’s long, blunt fingers stroked his chin as he regarded Dylan carefully.

Disappointment at the thought of being denied training to become a Dom squeezed the air from his lungs and each passing second he sat under Kerian’s critical stare felt like a lifetime.

“
Men your age make dreadful Doms,” he said in a low, composed voice. “They’re too focused on how much pussy they can get to see the whole picture and understand the responsibility of the title. But this lifestyle isn’t just about you and your sexual needs, Mr. Young. If you have any intentions other than being completely honest with me and the submissives who are entrusting you with their safety, then it’s best you either wait until you’re mature enough to handle the responsibility of being a Dom or focus your efforts on something else.”

Dylan stood in protest. “I’ve been
making my own decisions and living on my own since I was sixteen. I may not have the maturity of a man your age, but I’m no child and my way of thinking isn’t juvenile. I know I can come off as arrogant and self-obsessed, but that’s not who I really am inside,” he bit his bottom lip as he tried to formulate what he was feeling into words. “I want this and not just for the pussy.”

Kerian lifted an eyebrow sarcastically and
tightened his arms over his chest as if calling bullshit.

“Okay, yes, the pussy plays a
significant part in why I want this, but it’s not the
only
reason.” Seemingly getting nowhere with Kerian, he threw his hands up in defeat. “God damn it, I
am
ready for this. I’ve never been more ready for my life to mean something more than right now.”

Tossing
himself into the chair again, he stared at his hands despondently. “I
need
this.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Kerian placed his hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “
I still don’t think you’re ready, but I would love for you to prove me wrong. So I’ll ask you this only once more: what are you afraid of?”

Dylan let out the breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding in and relief swept over him. He
lifted his head and his gaze shifted from Kerian’s face to a spot on the wall behind him. It had taken years to build his tough façade and he hated being exposed and forced to explain himself, but he knew if he didn’t, the thing he wanted most would be denied him. Gritting his teeth until his jaw creaked, he forced out the words that had lodged in his throat.

“I’m afraid of failure.”

And of being alone.
Those words he refused to say out loud. No one ever need know that bit of truth about him.
No one.

***

Isabel

A touch of ph
thalo blue here, a splash of fawn yellow there, and smudge of dark magenta just so. The brush in Isabel’s hand glided over the canvas as she created her first painting in her new apartment. The hanging light in the closet pierced the shadowed corners, brightening the tiny space that she had designated as her painting room
.
The colors on the work in progress were bright and reflected her mood. It was such an odd, exhilarating feeling to be able to paint out in the open and without fear of hearing her father’s dreaded footsteps making their way to her.

Looking over her shoulder and out the closet door at the window in the distance, her eyes squinted when she smiled. Her first months’ rent was due and
the feeling of complete independence filled her. The bliss that she was feeling was an added bonus to her newfound freedom, and her efficiency apartment, though small and in a less than desirable neighborhood, was her own space. This was
her
home. This was
her
life. She didn’t know what happiness felt like, but with her creativity flowing in abundance, she was pretty sure this was as close to it as she had ever been.

She had been fortunate
to have secured a job at a bookstore on a public transportation route only days from having moved to Denver, and that her landlord had agreed to break up her deposit into three payments so that she could buy some necessities for her new abode. She was also blessed that a friendly older neighbor had given her a few used items of furniture to start out with such as a chest of drawers and a small table with two chairs. And it seemed that luck was with her once again when she found a tiny loveseat on clearance at a furniture store that was going out of business. Her entire life had been spent praying to a God she doubted was real, but for the first time, she actually felt as though a higher power was really watching out for her. For the first time, she felt safe.

It wasn’t until she fell asl
eep that her ghosts came to haunt her in the form of nightmares. Always it was her father’s eyes on her and his words tearing her down, reminding her that she would never amount to anything; that she was just a stupid, talentless little slut. Always it was his leather searing across her back and his fists in her diaphragm or a knee in her pelvis. Over a month had passed and still those dreams and memories were as fresh as the green summer grass growing outside. The happy images that she painted were continually interspersed with dark ones and this day, there would be no bright paint on her canvas.

When she woke the following day from a particular
ly bad dream after hearing her loud neighbors fighting, her body was damp with sweat and tears were running down her cheeks. As she lay on the floor of that small apartment; she found it hard to rise and to tell herself the things that would normally bring her out of a funk. Papa’s murderous eyes kept flashing before her own and she knew that no matter how many miles she put between them, no matter how much time would pass, she would never truly be free of him. As much as she wanted the images of sexual bondage she painted to become reality, they were only a metaphor to how she felt – forever bound to her father’s cruelty. And she knew, without a doubt, that he would eventually come for her. It could be tomorrow or a decade from now, but he would come... and no matter how much joy there was in her life, he would destroy it along with everyone she cared for.

***

Dylan

Dylan’
s weeks of practicing with the flogger on the back wall of the Dark Asylum were over. Tonight was the night he would test it on Catalina’s flesh under the watchful eye of Kerian. Standing in the men’s room as he leaned over the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. Other than shorter hair, he looked exactly the same as he did before his training began. His eyes were the same strange color blue, his physique no stronger, no weaker, yet he felt
different.
Scanning his face once more, he tried to put his finger on what it was that felt
out of the ordinary
.

Was he kinder?
A little.
More respectful?
Yes, though he was still learning the importance of that sentiment toward his fellow man and for the women who were freely giving their submission to him.
Was he smarter?
In regards to BDSM, definitely. So why was it that he was feeling so damned different?

Kerian poke
d his head into the restroom. “Are you having second thoughts?”

He shook his head and straightened himself up. Hell no
, he wasn’t having second thoughts.

Pushing forward, he followed Kerian to the staged area where Catalina was already waiting. They had grown into a comfortable routine where she would explain her limits and what she hoped for out of the scene. Their encounters had been strictly limited to sensation experimentation on both their parts and only light sexual contact up until that point, but Dylan was hoping for
more
tonight.

His nerves prickled with anticipation when Kerian brought a new flogger over to him, one that he had never seen before.

“I had this made for you. At the risk of sounding sentimental, I give this to you with the hopes that you can go forth and become the man I know you were meant to be. Keep in mind your limits and fears, listen to that inner voice even if it’s not making sense at that moment, and remember, Dylan, just like in life, there is no failing in BDSM. There is only learning from your mistakes and making right what you’ve wronged.”

No sincerer statement had ever been spoken to him since his father’s words before he last saw him and a lump formed in his throat. If only his parents were there to see the man he had become… the man he was growing into. Confidently, he took the flogger from Kerian’s hands and ran his fingers over the braided leather handle. It was smooth and soft like Catalina’s skin and the smell of new leather exhilarated him. He stepped back and swished
it at his side and against this own thigh. The unbroken firmness of the leather strands caused a sting on his own flesh, piquing his arousal.

Walking slowly to Catalina, he allowed her to touch it and to smell it as he pulled his fingers through her long hair. He placed the braided handle between her teeth and spun her around to pull her hair back and away from her face. With her brown locks neatly knotted behind her head,
he fettered her wrists and attached them to a long hook on a chain that hung from the ceiling. With her hands high above her head, he turned her back around to face him, her dark eyes growing excited as he reached for the flogger.