Vow of Silence (3 page)

Grinding metal and the sharp high-pitched
clangs
of
metal hitting metal make her draw closer to me in the dark. A chain pulley
clinks rhythmically, followed by the deep, pain-filled moan of a woman. In the
dark she stops, listening, her breathing faster and louder than it was a moment
before. I pull her to the middle of the room, knowing that her journey has been
a sensory overload, knowing that her path has taken her from bare concrete to
rough metal grating and back to concrete that has been dirtied up a bit with
sawdust and motor oil.

We hit our first mark, and a pressurized board beneath my
foot triggers a computer panel that will control all of the audio and visual
components of the scene. The first of which is a bare light bulb that flickers
on, then, seemingly having a bad connection continues to waver, brightening and
darkening the space at random intervals, giving Sharon her first glimpse at
what is to come. In the shadowy flickers, the faux painted walls appear dirty
and the floors grimy. Large metal industrial parts, racks and tables are the
furnishings.

I turn her to face me, lifting a rubber ring gag into her
line of vision, demanding, “Open.”

She opens her mouth and I adjust the bit tight, but looser
than if she were an experienced player. Behind us the ratcheting sounds of the
chain pulley and moaning woman fill the space with a desolate ambiance. I am
pleased with Sharon’s reaction as she fidgets and moves closer to me, nervous
energy rolling off her in waves, and though I’m not sure what her fantasies
were before coming here to The Attic, I can be certain what she’ll dream about
after she leaves.

She asked me to terrify her, though she said it as a
challenge not realizing that it really doesn’t take all that much. The power of
suggestion is a marvelous thing, and I admit to abusing it here. I’m also cocky
enough to know that I’m good at pulling things out of people’s minds that were
probably better off left where they were…and for Sharon, the real mindfuck
begins with a woman’s shriek coming from somewhere in the shadows. She jumps
into me, stumbling, bound. I catch her, at once her savior and protector,
though in just a few moments I will be her tormentor.

A soft light begins to glow high and right, revealing a loft
where a nude woman is obviously lying on her stomach, bound by rope, back
arched so that her feet are connected to her elbows in a classic hogtie. A
double-ratchet dental gag holds her mouth open wide and is held in place by a
wide, black rubberized band. Her wide eyes seem to beg for release. As the
light revealing her face fades to a bare glimmer, the sound of her gagged pleas
mix softly with the mechanical sounds and louder moans of the woman on the
other side of the room, who has yet to be revealed. It is a pre-recorded sound bite
that loops of a woman having her pussy swatted with a flogger. The moaning is
the sound of her orgasm building, but without the visual, the sounds could
easily be mistaken for moans of pain instead of ecstasy and the rhythmic
swatting by the small flogger a grislier-sounding device of torture. The
visuals and sound garner the response I expect from my first-time client as she
shivers and inches closer to me.

Her eyes grow wider as I point her toward a table that is
made of wide aged wood planks. “Climb up.”

She finds following my order a challenge. I tap her leg
lightly with a metal rod that vibrates with the strike, leaving her knowing she
was struck but unmarked. It is not my intention to leave her battered or
bruised during her first session here. Repeat business is what has made Lewd
Larry’s flourish, and as a major contributor to that repeat business, my fiscal
recompense has been greater than I could have ever imagined as an early
investor.

“Move faster next time!”

She nods, and I see that the bit is already causing her to
drool.

A soft mewling and sniffling is now the room’s background
noise, the intermittent pulley clinking followed by a deep moan, an
unpredictable addition that causes her to flinch in response as I position her
on her knees. I slap her silk-clad bottom bare-handed, leaving what I know is a
pink flush though it is hidden from view. “Don’t move!”

She immediately stills and I bring her implements of torture
into view—a tray of nipple clamps, clothespins, vibrators, whips and rods of
varying lengths and materials. Her brow furrows and her eyes widen even more.
An iron bar stands vertical to the table. Attached to the bar is an iron neck
collar, which, by having her lean forward, I clasp quickly into place. Though
it looks horribly roughened with rust, it isn’t. The magic of faux paint
techniques ensures the surface is smooth and will not scrape her. However, the
weight of it alone makes it uncomfortable.

I release the handcuffs, allowing her to support her weight
on her hands and knees. The round curve of her ass trembles, her legs obviously
shaking, a strong reaction to the scene thus far, which makes me wonder if we
will get through an entire hour. I don’t ask her if she is okay; I don’t say
anything at all, letting my silence weigh heavy on her.

I bring a second bar into view, sliding the bar vertically
and locking it into place at her shoulder level. Iron wrist manacles make it
obvious where her hands are going to be placed so that when I command, “Hand,”
she lifts her left hand into the hole.

She is visibly shaking as I tighten the manacle, tight
enough to make escape impossible but not so tight that it is anything more than
a solid weight around her wrist, keeping her immobile.

I step back to look at her, secured, gagged and beginning to
show some tightness around her eyes that wasn’t there before. She might be a
little concerned at this point, maybe a bit fearful of what is going to happen
next, definitely not terrified. I purse my lips, making a show of thinking
about what I am going to do next to my willing captive, then smile, winking,
before moving around behind her.

Soft strikes on the insides of her thighs with a metal rod
indicate what I want, and she separates her legs in response. I continue to tap
and move her legs until her ankles are exactly where I want them, between two
sets of predrilled holes. I place two bent iron bars around her ankles, sliding
heavy bolts into the predrilled holes to hold the manacles in place. I flip a
switch that puts into motion a series of events. Corners of the room are slowly
illuminated with low-level light, revealing in the shadows the tools and machines
that give the room its name; a conveyor belt whirs into motion; a compressor
hisses and a chain is pulled through a square in the ceiling.

She starts breathing heavily and I see her hands close into
tightly balled fists, which could be a sign that she is battling within herself
to call this scene quits. I decide that I have honored her request to be made
afraid and move to part two of our scenes’ agreement, helping her find pleasure
in pain, which is always the harder request because everyone reacts to
pleasure, pain and the combining of both differently.

I decide to start with nipple clamps hung with small
weights.

I didn’t ask her to take her bra off nor do I cut the fabric
away, but I do pull her breasts above the embroidered silk cups. Quickly. Forcibly.
I attach the nipple clamps quickly and without comment. Even with the bit in
place, I hear her sharp intake of breath at the immediate pain they bring. Her
eyes close and in her restraint her right foot jerks, her hands open and close
as she relaxes into the pain. I judge that is exactly what she is trying to do,
relax into the pain, but I don’t want her relaxed. I want her wired tight, and
so I immediately add weights to the clamps, nudging them so that they sway off
the tips of her breasts. Her eyes water, and I elicit her first moan from her
gagged lips.

I pat her shoulder, rubbing my hand down the length of her
spine, this stroke being the only tenderness I will show her. When my hand
comes to the curve of her ass, I smack her twice, catching her off guard,
causing her to scream around the bit.

“Tsk, tsk. This will not do, Mrs. Von Buren.” I push her
panties down over the curve of her cheeks. “Such a nice backside, Mrs. Von
Buren. I think it would be much nicer a bright, rosy shade of pink though,
don’t you?”

“Eh, eh.” I take her answer to mean yes.

I oblige, alternating smacks on her rounded bottom until she
is a rosy pink.

Her thighs are shaking as I clip six clothespins around her
vulva, each attached to the other by a string so that when I pull, not only
will the first pop off, but they will all flip off in a chain reaction. I will
wait until she is close to orgasm, and as I watch her hands opening and
shutting, trying to relax into the pain, I have no doubt that I will help her
find explosive pleasure in the throes of her pain.

I stroke her inner thigh, imagining the pale skin more
golden. Not her, Lin. I try to imagine her here and consider binding her
tomorrow night. I so want to give her a taste of my world before our
relationship progresses any further. I can imagine how beautiful she would be
displayed in rope and end up lusting for her so deeply I ache.

George

It is a rare occasion I attempt to go out on anything that
resembles a real date and as I dressed and prepared for the evening I was
plagued by doubts. Even though I enjoyed every moment I was with Lin in the
past, to renew our relationship seems futile. She is just so completely vanilla.
But when she meets me at the restaurant she radiates a singular beauty so
extraordinary I cannot help but grin when I see her, and folding her in my
embrace seems most natural. She molds to me so perfectly and for a moment I am
lost in the memories her fragrance brings. “I’ve missed you, Lin.”

She steps back, still smiling, blushing also. “And I you,
George.”

I’d forgotten the perfection of her beauty.

Of course I’m not so shallow as to be blinded by loveliness
only skin deep.

I’m certain her intelligence plays into the attraction, and
her creative nature, which borders on genius, cannot be denied. Yet I could get
lost in her eyes, her lush mouth.

Love poems of old burst forth in my mind.

Lord Byron’s
She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night—of cloudless climes and
starry skies. And all that’s best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her
eyes. Thus mellowed to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies.

And Robert Browning’s
Life in Love

Escape me? Never— Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, so
long as the world contains us both, me the loving and you the loth, while the
one eludes, must the other pursue. My life is a fault at last, I fear—It seems
too much like a fate, indeed! Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed— But
what if I fail of my purpose here?

“Our table’s ready,” I say, wondering how I managed to keep
myself from contacting her.

We follow the maître d’ and I sit across the table from her.
Looking into her eyes, I notice just how beautiful her irises are, a vibrant
amethyst, exotic even without the striking setting of her almond-shaped lids. I
could stare into their depths forever. I could begin to believe in love.

The look she tosses me offers such promise of depravity, but
then she bats her eyes and her countenance changes as if it never was and my
mind is seeing only what it wishes, and I am left with only her coy innocence
to torture me.

I shudder needily, hiding my reaction to her behind the lift
of my wineglass. I sip, listening as stories pour from between her lips.

“I never believed I would be extended such an honor,” she
says. “I will be going with the sculptures to each country and there will be a
formal affair at each.”

I am paying attention, honestly I am, as intently as if I am
to be quizzed later, but I am also listening to what she doesn’t say. To the
things only her body can tell me. I am a master of body language and her
actions are so telling. With a flip of her hair, she exposes her neck then
tilts her head to the side, both signaling that she is willing to be
vulnerable. She opens her eyes wider, licks her lips, leans nearer…she’s
obviously open and available to a sexual encounter. I reach across the table to
stroke her wrist, sexual tension sparking between us as my fingertips trace her
sensitive flesh. She drops her face, flushed, embarrassed slightly. I have no
doubt her pussy clenched and waves of need raced through her veins.

She giggles. “I have talked so much, hardly letting you get
a word in edgewise. Please, George, tell me what you have been up to. It has
been so long. What are you thinking right now?”

I tilt my head, understanding she doesn’t really want to know
the lurid thoughts racing through my mind. I smile, continuing to softly stroke
the inside of her wrist. “Why did you call
me
, Lin?”

“I’ve missed you,” she admits, but looks uncomfortable.

“But that isn’t all of it, is it? What do you really want to
know, Lin?”

Shrugging, she studies me for a moment before asking, “Why
did you leave your medical practice to—?” She waves her hand to keep from
saying the words.

This was the note our last date ended on.
I made a
mistake coming here tonight.

I force myself to not look away from her or allow her to see
the depth of emotion her question wells inside me. I do not tell her the truth,
though my words are not a lie when I answer, “I needed something else at the
time.”

She gives me a questioning glance, pulling back the hand I
have been teasing so intently. She folds both hands in her lap. “And now? Is
having your own medical practice something you wish to pursue again?”

Every single one of my emotional walls goes up, protection
against the storm raging inside me. She doesn’t need to know the details of my
past, though if she wanted to investigate the truth I am sure there is enough
dirt on me still floating through cyberspace that all she would have to do is
Google me.
Please don’t pursue this, Lin.
“My dear, I am content
embracing my hedonism.”

She presses her lips together, her eyes trained on the
napkin in her lap. “I did not want to ruin this evening with so sore a
subject.”

“Then do not ruin this evening.”

She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “Have you hurt people?”

“Hurt?” The look on her face makes me think she believes I
am a monster and I hate that. We’ve spent so much time together, surely she
knows me by now. I assure her, “I’ve never maimed anyone.”

“I know about the accusations and the trial.”

She Googled me.

Her eyes fill with tears and I think it is because there is
doubt in her mind. She lowers her voice to the softest whisper. “Please,
George, help me to understand why I am sitting here when everything I know
about you tells me I should run. I do not believe you molested a young girl and
ruined your career doing so, but I do believe you are filled with
a darkness
.”

“I would agree that I am filled with darkness, but I would
also say that all humans have a shadow side. That has nothing to do with your
real concern.” I start laughing, startling her. “How are you even sitting here?
You met me believing I molested a child and now you think I’ve broken people on
a rack.”

She laughs too. “I must be insane. Maybe I need a
psychiatrist? I like you very much, George. I would like to continue to believe
you are a good man.”

“Let me assure you, I did not molest a child.”

“Not so much a child, George. I have seen photos of her. She
was a teenager, and she was beautiful.”

“Still a child, emotionally and legally,” I insist. “And
even though it took some time, I was eventually cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“So you could have gone back to your practice? You still
could?” she asks ardently.

“I don’t want to. I’m not the same man I was then.” My
answer doesn’t please her and I fear our date is over as I take a long sip of
wine. Next time I’ll listen to my gut. Tonight should have never happened.
Setting my glass on the table, I feel her gaze on me and force myself to meet
her eyes. I expect to be met with scorn or disappointment but the emotion I see
is curiosity. I lean forward and whisper the words I’ve wanted to say but have
held in check. “Perhaps in seeking me out you wish to explore your own
fantasies. Do you think about it, Lin? Do you think about what it would be like
to do very naughty things with me?”

She blushes scarlet but doesn’t duck away. Very quietly she
answers, “Sometimes.”

“Perhaps, before you judge me too harshly, you could allow
me to show you a peek into my darker world?”

I almost laugh when she pales.

“Nothing too sinister. We could go to Lewd Larry’s.”

Her lip curls distastefully as she asks, “The nightclub you
work at?”

“Yes.” I don’t divulge I am now its owner.

“I don’t believe that would be appropriate.”

Hearing the scorn in her voice is like a slap in the face.
I
need to get out of this restaurant.
I need to get away from this woman.
“Perhaps I should take you home?”

“Isn’t there a way for me to have a peek into your dark
world in a more private location? Your home?”

I’m so shocked by her question, I’m glad I’m still seated.
“You want me to take you to my house?”

“Yes, George.”

“For a sneak peek at my kink?”

She giggles. “You make me feel like an immature schoolgirl.
I just want to see who you are when you aren’t the man I know. Do you wear a
costume? Do you carry a flogger?”

I almost laugh out loud, but I manage to contain myself. “I
won’t play dress-up for you, Lin.”

She looks crestfallen.

“But if you desire it I will show you my home…and
my
playspace
.”

“Your p-playspace?” Her eyes widen. “Is that where you—”

“I’ve decorated my basement with kink in mind.”

* * * * *

“After you.” Standing in the grand foyer of my home, I hold
the door that leads to the lower level open for Lin. Even in her four-inch
heels I have to look down at her. Sometimes I forget just how tiny she is, but
now, taking her in, I gaze upon her appreciatively, noting every detail of her
small waist, small breasts, and long, thin limbs.

For a moment my mind wanders and her blue silk sleeveless
blouse disappears, her tight black dress slacks as well, and she is standing
before me nude as she was the last time we were together. She’d asked me into
her apartment for a nightcap and we’d finished the evening with a massage.

I love her body. Her nipples are so dark, the contrast
between very dark and the sallow gold of her breasts striking. She is thin to
the point of seeming frail, but she is strong. Her frailty is an illusion seen
in the angular count of each visible rib and the jutting bones of her pelvis.
I’ve seen her strength. Her body is softened only by the gentle curve of her
belly, the dark cave of her beautiful navel and delicate round of her small
breasts. The soft, fine hair of her pubis is as silky as the hair on her head.
And though I haven’t seen her in months, the vision of her naked is as clear in
my mind as if the date was yesterday. She turns me on more than any woman I
have ever been intimate with.

“I’m nervous,” she says, looking up at me.

I laugh tightly, knowing a stall when I see one.

“Perhaps you could show me the rest of your home before I
face the kinky areas?” She drops her face, her hair falling before her like a
veil, but she lifts her eyes in a very knowing, flirtful tease and licks her
lip nervously. I lift her chin, making her meet my gaze. Stroking her cheek, I
long to kiss her and just like that sexual electricity sizzles between us.

I take her hand, prepared to give her the grand tour. “This
is the foyer.”

The walls are stucco and the floor exotic hardwood. There
are numerous pieces of priceless art that make her eyes widen appreciatively. A
solid, round wood table anchors the center of the room. Above us there is a
round domed skylight, which by day showers light onto the potted sago palm
centered on the table.

I lead her room by room, announcing as we walk through, “Living
room…dining room…kitchen…wine cellar…media room…and we’re back.”

Standing in the foyer, she faces a hall I didn’t take her
down. It is a long hall, which is windowed floor-to-ceiling the complete length
of one side and overlooks an in-ground pool and garden area that separates the
living and sleeping areas. I flip the switch for the exterior lights,
illuminating the hallway from outside. I gesture. “The master bedroom and guest
rooms are down there.”

She gasps, and I understand her awe. The gardens are the
most enticing part of the house, but I don’t take her around the outside. The
view from the hallway seems sufficient—for now.

“Should we proceed to the lower level?”

She lays her palm on my chest. “I’m just not certain I can
do
this
.”

“Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen,” I
assure her, opening the door to the stairwell. “If you just want to peek at
what lies downstairs, that’s all we’ll do.”

Nervously she takes a step forward and I take it as a good
sign.

The stairwell is innocuous—bare, beige walls, luxuriously
carpeted steps. There is absolutely nothing to terrify her on the way down.

The steps lead to an open area, also very benign, same
luxurious carpet, same beige walls. A master-crafted wooden bar that anchors
one wall and a stone fireplace are inviting. Two softly upholstered chairs face
each other over a low chessboard.

I look at Lin and watch surprise, then relief spread over
her face.

“You are teasing me, George. I was scared out of my mind for
nothing.”

Her smile is beauteous and I almost hate to ruin it. Knowing
I might as well get it over with, I leave her standing to flip a switch inside
a connecting room. She starts to follow me until she sees it is a padded cell.
Predictably the smile is wiped from her face.

I explain, “It’s an actual room from Agnews.”

“The condemned asylum?” she asks shrilly.

“Yes.” I walk to another doorway and turn on its lights,
revealing a fully equipped hospital room. The next resembles a dentist’s
office. And finally I flip the switch for the last room. Lights do not
illuminate this room; instead flames shoot out of wall-mounted sconces. “This
is the largest room, a replica dungeon from the medieval age.”

“Oh my.”

“All of the ironwork and implements of torture are wholly
authentic.” I run my hand tenderly over a well-preserved wooden rack, pointing
out the fully functional gears. “I completely restored this to working order
myself.”

“George?”

I glance sideways to see she has turned white as a sheet and
has backed away.

“I’ll wait for you upstairs.”

I watch her run up the staircase but don’t follow
immediately. I can’t. Her fear is a strong perfume. I want her desperately.
That’s when it dawns on me why I am so attracted to her. Her fear is virginal,
pure and fresh. Normally when I play it is with people fully ensconced in the
lifestyle. I can make them react but there isn’t really fear.