Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian (19 page)

And suddenly, Regina knew what she had to do.

CHAPTER 36

“This is quite a shopping list,” Carly said, glancing at the large pink Post-it note Regina had been scribbling on for days.

It was Saturday morning. Regina couldn't help but think that one week ago she had been shopping with Sebastian for the Bondage Ball—a day that had started out with such promise and ended with her questioning everything.

She hoped that this shopping trip would lead her to the answer.

Regina followed Carly east, toward Christopher Street.

“That's why I need you. I figured I could spend hours on Yelp trusting strangers, or I could enlist my in-house fashion guru.”

“I'm a designer, not a personal shopper,” Carly grumbled, but Regina knew she was happy to embark on the day's project. “I'm hoping we can find everything in two places. And you really have a corset and garters already?”

“Yes,” Regina said, blushing. The corset was stuffed in the back of her closet. She had not looked at it since the night Greta had laced her into it—the night Sebastian had given her the butt plug.

The first store was called My Cross to Bare, and the window was filled with willowy, white plastic mannequins outfitted in corsets, leather caps, and platform boots, with handcuffs dangling from their wrists.

Carly rang a small white doorbell, and they were buzzed into the store.

Regina noticed a few saleswomen milling about, but no one seemed in any hurry to help them. They probably figured that customers who came to the store knew what they wanted and how to get it.

Carly pulled her hair back into a quick messy ponytail, glanced at the list, and put her hands on her hips, as if preparing for battle. Then she walked around the store picking out the designated items: long leather gloves in black plus one in white; a black velvet corset with large, visible hooks in the back; a flogger with a braided black leather handle and red-and-black leather fronds; a long, dramatic, but impractical-looking whip; and an eighteen-inch riding crop.

She handed the pile to Regina. “That was easy,” she said. “Now can you tell me what this is all about?”

“This is my version of meeting in the middle, for Sebastian,” she said.

“I don't get it,” Carly said.

“I know . . . it's hard to explain. I'm just starting to get it myself.”

An Asian saleswoman appeared. “Do you need a dressing room?”

“No thanks. We'll take everything,” Carly said, smiling at Regina.

•

As Sebastian opened the door to his apartment, Regina realized that for once, she was the one doing the surprising.

He smiled and took the two canvas duffel bags from her hands.

“A week of not talking to me, and now you're moving in?” he joked, clearly delighted to see her.

Unlike the other day on the street, Regina immediately looked into his eyes and knew in an instant that she was doing the right thing.
If
it worked.

“Well, the not-talking thing isn't exactly helping. I thought it was time to try a different tactic.” She smiled, but inside she was shaking. What if he said no? What if he told her it was a stupid idea? What if he just couldn't work that way?

He took her by the hand and led her into the living room.

“And what was not talking supposed to help, exactly?” he asked, sitting down next to her.

“It was supposed to help me think—which I can't do clearly when I'm near you. Everything gets . . . cloudy.” Even then, being close to him distracted her. She felt herself turn in toward him, like a plant tilting toward the sun for the light it needed for photosynthesis. “I needed to be clear on what I want—and what I'm willing to give.”

“I have to admit—and maybe this is my inexperience with emotional intimacy rearing its ugly head—I have no idea what's going on.”

Regina swallowed hard. “Well, I think last week, the night of the Jane Hotel, I was saying to you that I needed more from this relationship. That I wanted to know you, and you got mad at me because I brought up what Margaret told me. And maybe that was my fault—a clumsy way to start the conversation. But then you made it clear that you weren't interested in having that kind of relationship. And it felt like a deal breaker to both of us, right?”

He nodded. “But then . . .”

“Yes, I know,” she said quickly. “You met me after work this week to try to talk, and I said, well, I don't remember exactly what I said.”

“Let me paraphrase: ‘Too little, too late,' ” Sebastian said, but he was looking at her with affection.

“Yeah . . . something like that. But I think what really freaked me out was realizing that if
you
tried, then
I
had to try. And you asked me about posing for you, and it put
me
in the position of saying no to you, just as you were saying yes to me . . . and I felt cornered. Or, set up to fail. And I don't want to be the one who ruins this.” She felt tears well in her eyes. She blinked quickly to hold them back, but they fell anyway. Sebastian reached out and wiped her cheek.

“You're not ruining it, Regina.”

“Maybe
ruin
is too strong a word.
Limit
it.”

“Everyone has limits. Didn't we talk about that from the beginning?”

She nodded.

He put his arm around her, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. “Regina?” he asked quietly.

“Yes?”

“What's in the bags?”

“Oh, yeah. That's why I came here. I've changed my mind: I want you to photograph me.”

Sebastian looked at her as if waiting for the punch line. Then, realizing she was serious, he shook his head slowly.

“I appreciate that, Regina. But I've been thinking a lot, too, since our last conversation. Remember what I told you about BDSM and photography—what they have in common?”

“I think so,” she said.

“I told you that you can't force someone to be a true submissive, and you can't force someone to give in front of the camera. The results will be terrible. You can't force yourself, either.”

She realized that he was letting her off the hook. She could back away now, and they could have a physical relationship for as long as it lasted, and that would be that. He wouldn't ask to photograph her again. She was free to set her own limits.

“I'm not forcing myself. I want to.”

He looked at her skeptically. “Since when?”

She walked over to one of the duffel bags and unzipped it, pulling out the Bettie Page book. She carried it back to the sofa.

“You gave this to me,” she said, opening it.

“Yeah, I remember.”

She flipped to the last section of the book, locating the photos she liked.

“I could do something like this.”

Sebastian took the book from her, setting it on his lap. He glanced at the page but shook his head.

“I can't copy someone else's style,” he said. “That's not how it works.”

“I don't mean the style of the shot. I just mean the way
she
is in the photos.” Regina didn't know why words were failing her. She quickly flipped to another part of the book, and she showed him a photo of Bettie tied to wooden beams. “But not these photos. I don't want to do this type of thing.”

“You want to be dominant in the photos?” he asked. She nodded. He seemed to consider this. “But that's not how I see you. It's not how you are. It won't be authentic.”

“Aren't you the one who told me I needed to—how did you put it?—evolve?” she asked, smiling.

He looked at her, his face serious. A minute passed. She held his gaze. And then another minute.

“I'll think about it,” he said. “But I need you to sell me on the idea that you can project that role convincingly. Let's see what you have in those bags.”

CHAPTER 37

A simple flick of the wrist could make the different between tapping someone and cutting them.

At least, that was what Sebastian told her.

Standing in his bedroom in her high black boots, tightly cinched corset, arms covered to the elbows in black leather gloves, Regina held the riding crop and felt powerful—despite the fact that the only thing she was flogging was a pillow.

She struck it again.

“You don't want to lead with the point. If you hit the person with just the tip, it will leave marks even if you don't break the skin,” Sebastian said. He sat in a high-back chair across the room, directing her like the Francis Ford Coppola of S&M.

He walked over and took the cane from her. “Is this nylon or fiberglass?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Okay, try it again.” He returned to his seat.

She raised her arm and brought the cane down on the pillow.

“Better,” he said. “And remember that the force of impact is determined by how fast you bring down the cane, not how much actual muscle you put into it.”

“I had no idea this was so complicated,” Regina said.

“It does take some effort and thought,” he said, smiling. “What? Did you think it was all fun and games for me?”

She struck the pillow one more time.

“I don't know about your accuracy on that one—that might have been more upper thighs than ass. You have to watch that.”

She looked at him. “It's a pillow. How can I tell where the imaginary ass is?”

“I'll admit—there are some limitations to this little exercise.” He stood up from the chair. “I think it's time to move this to a different arena.”

Regina got excited. She hoped he would take her to the Room so she could actually see it for once. But then she noticed his car keys in his hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Field trip.”

•

If the club had a name, Regina didn't see it outside. Inside, it was too dark to see much of anything.

Regina had changed back into street clothes, though Sebastian had warned her she wouldn't be wearing them for long. The club had a strict “underwear or less” policy, and a clothes check at the entrance. She had balked at this, but Sebastian assured her that once she was inside, she would draw more attention to herself in clothes than if she just went with it and blended in with the crowd. There was a certain logic to this, but she still had an adventure hangover from the Jane Hotel party, and wasn't really in a “just go with it” frame of mind.

But the woman at the door was in her mid-forties, very nonthreatening, and when she directed Regina to the clothes check so politely and matter-of-factly, Regina gave in to it.

She couldn't help but smile at the sight of Sebastian stripping down to his boxers.

“I hadn't factored in that the underwear-or-less policy would include you,” she said.

“I'm all about equality, baby,” he said.

Although the night had taken an unexpected turn, she did feel somehow closer to him already. And she was eager to get to the photo shoot before the dynamic between them changed back to one of uncertainty, or before she simply lost her nerve.

But Sebastian was adamant that she experience the role she wanted to project in the shots. She wondered how much Bettie had actually lived, and how much had simply been acting.

“If you would like to rent whips, handcuffs, canes, blindfolds, or anything else, you'll find them downstairs to your right.”

Regina handed over her clothes, and the woman gave her a colorful cardboard ticket, like a coat-check ticket.

“I don't have a pocket to keep this in,” she said to Sebastian.

“Can you remember the number?”

“Yes.”

He took the piece of cardboard from her and returned it to the clothes check. “No more stalling—let's go.” He handed her the riding crop.

He led her by the hand down a set of stairs. The vibe was hip dungeon. Candelabras provided lighting and revealed cages, stone floors, and wood-paneled archways dividing the rooms. The medieval-looking furniture clearly served as torture devices, and the walls were dotted with ropes, chains, hooks, and pulleys.

Sebastian had been right: she didn't feel terribly conspicuous in her underwear. The other denizens of the club glanced at her with only the passing interest any person would get walking into an already occupied room or a party already in full swing.

He led her around the room. She was surprised to see more men tied up or in various bondage scenarios than women. Her relationship with Sebastian had led her to automatically view women in the submissive role, but in the club, they were the minority.

“You're not playing with any men,” Sebastian said, as they passed two men chained to the wall, one facing out and one with his back to the room. The one facing out had his penis encased in some sort of metal cage. Each man was being tended to by a woman brandishing crops and other instruments of pain.

“That's fine with me,” Regina said quickly.

A woman in a red teddy sat on a large, throne-like chair; she had long legs clad in red leather boots, and a man was draped over her lap, bare-bottomed. She spanked him with a paddle, and Regina could have sworn she heard the man call her “mommy.”

“This way.” Sebastian led her through an archway to another room. She saw a woman in a wooden stockade, blindfolded, and naked from the waist down. Sebastian seemed to contemplate the woman for a moment, but then he moved on to another woman who was stretched out on her stomach, naked, on a table with her arms and legs strapped down. Beside her, a man spanked her with his bare hand. The woman's fair skin was red with handprints.

Sebastian stopped Regina a few feet from the table. “Just watch,” he said quietly, putting his arm around her.

The man at the table brought his hand down again, and then waited a longer time for the next blow. The woman moaned—not crying out in pain but moaning in ecstasy.

As if sensing his audience, the man turned to look at them. Then he returned his focus to the woman on the table, and brought his hand down onto her flesh with a smack that Regina could have heard from the other room.

He walked away.

“Where's he going?” Regina whispered.

“He's giving us a turn,” Sebastian said.

“A turn for what?”

“To play with her.”

Regina widened her eyes and shook her head. “No way.”

“That's what we're here for,” he said.

“I thought we were just here to observe.”

“I don't know what gave you that idea,” he said, handing her the crop. “Wait here a second.”

Sebastian walked over to the woman and bent down to say something to her. The woman's face was turned in the opposite direction, and Regina couldn't tell what the conversation was about.

He turned to Regina and gestured for her to come closer. Regina reluctantly walked to the table. Up close, the marks on the woman's skin were even more red and pronounced. Regina averted her eyes.

“She said it's okay to use the crop,” Sebastian said. Regina looked at him like he was crazy.

“I'm not hitting this woman.”

“It's what she's here for,” Sebastian said. “And more important, it's what
we're
here for.” He stroked her head, and his tone changed. “Either she gets it now, or you get it later,” he said. “Actually, you're going to get it regardless. It's just a matter of how bad.”

Regina looked into his dark eyes and felt the familiar flutter spread from her gut to her pelvis. And she realized she shouldn't feel bad about striking the woman. Maybe she didn't have a Sebastian and so she came to this place to feel the things that Regina knew only one person would be able to give her.

She raised the crop, holding her arm to the level Sebastian had taught her. He gestured to the woman's ass, reminding Regina to hit her target and not strike the backs of her thighs, which might be too painful.

She hesitated before bringing the crop down, but a quick look at Sebastian provided her with the nod of encouragement she needed to go through with it. She bit her bottom lip, and brought the rod down on the woman's pink bottom.

“You can do it harder than that,” Sebastian said.

She wondered if it turned him on to watch her. And in the spirit of their more open, communicative relationship, she decided to ask him. “Is this hot for you?”

He shook his head. “No.” He moved closer to her, whispering, “It's taking all of my self-control not to throw a blindfold on you and tie you to that bench over there. You'd resist, but I'd rip your panties right off and use the paddle to show these amateurs how it's really done.
That
would be hot for me.”

Regina's heart started beating.

“Now,” he whispered, “I want you to strike this woman four times, and then we're leaving. Tell her to count.”

With trepidation, Regina faced the woman. “Count,” she said nervously, trying to keep her voice strong and unwavering. She looked at Sebastian, and he nodded.

Regina brought down the crop, not too hard but with definite force.

“One,” the woman called out in a clear voice. Sebastian mouthed,
Harder
.

Regina used more speed, and the sound of the stick making contact with flesh was almost too much for her. “Two!” the woman called out. Regina kept going, her arm starting to shake.

“Make her come,” Sebastian said. Regina looked at him like he was crazy. She brought the crop down harder. The woman moaned slightly—not as loud as she had for Regina's predecessor, but still it was something.

“Three,” the woman said, her voice slightly more strained.

Regina struck her again, this time with a force that surprised her. The woman responded with an ecstatic shriek, and then, her voice thick, she said, “Four.”

Sebastian took the crop from Regina and led her back up the stairs.

•

Outside, the night was cooling down. Regina, relieved to be back in her clothes, wondered if the hardest part of the night was behind her—or ahead of her.

She was glad he had brought her to the club, had let her experience the other side of the whip firsthand. It was amazing to her that she did not feel the slightest arousal in the power position. She realized that the sexual dynamic between her and Sebastian was not just something she accepted to please him, but one that was genuinely right for her. Of course, the intense pleasure she felt from it should have told her that. But until she stepped into the other shoes, she could never be certain. Now, having seen who she was not, she had a greater sense of her sexual self. And even though it was counter to logic, knowing she was not a domme would make the photography session easier: she would be revealing little of herself in the photos; she would be playing a part. Her own sexuality would still be a delicious secret between Sebastian and her alone.

She just hoped she could convincingly portray the domme. She had a new respect for Bettie Page.

Sebastian pulled out his phone.

“Jess,” he said. “I have a favor to ask. Can you be at my place in twenty minutes? I'm with Regina, and we need your genius.”

Regina looked at him quizzically, but he just winked at her.