“Just like battered wives and abused girlfriends do? If you’re with a dangerous man, laws won’t protect your rights. You know that, and I know that. You either end up with a useless restraining order and a psycho that kills you anyway, or the battered wives’ version of Stockholm Syndrome.”
“Grace . . .”
“Safewords don’t make you safe. If you’re with the wrong guy playing kinky, you’re fucked anyway. I’ve taken every precaution I know to take. I’ve checked out everything there is on this guy. He’s squeaky clean.”
“Maybe too clean,” Lainey said, as if a man were evil by virtue of
not
having a criminal record.
Five minutes.
“I have to go. He’s logging on in a few.”
Lainey seemed as if she were going to argue, but instead disconnected the call without even a goodbye. Lainey was the only one who would fight her on this. Grace’s parents had died in a car crash, and her brother was too coked out of his mind half the time to understand what was going on in his immediate reality, let alone a thousand miles away at her house.
Another minute passed and she saw Lucas’s Internet handle,
Stoneman
, flash across her screen.
Stoneman:
Hey, pet. Been waiting long?
Gracie343:
Only about fifteen minutes.
Stoneman:
*chuckles* If only you were as eager to hop on a plane as you are to message me.
Gracie343:
You know why I have to be careful.
Stoneman:
I know. And you aren’t wrong. A woman disappeared here. Several of us think her master killed her, but they haven’t found a body.
Grace’s hand trembled a little as she stared at the words on the screen. Perhaps Lainey was right. Maybe she should find some nice master at a club somewhere who would follow the laws of
safe, sane, and consensual
or be ostracized from the ranks. She shook off the paranoia. If Lucas was bad, he wouldn’t be telling her about some girl that may have been murdered. It would hardly get him closer to getting her on a plane. She changed the subject.
Gracie343:
You really haven’t taken a slave during the time you’ve been talking to me?
Stoneman:
Nope.
Gracie343:
Why not?
Five minutes passed before the little bar on the screen lit up and dinged at her.
Stoneman:
Sorry. Had to let the dog out.
Grace waited another endless minute while the text at the bottom of the chat box said:
Stoneman typing . . .
Stoneman:
It’s a long process. There are occasionally sales on the island, but most men who want one do what I’m doing, find someone on the outside willing to be brought in. I know it’s a big risk. I don’t think I’d want a slave that agreed too quickly. It wouldn’t mean as much.
Gracie343:
Okay.
So maybe he hadn’t found someone else. Or maybe he had. He could have a harem full of slaves and she wouldn’t know until she got there. Would sharing bother her? She wasn’t sure it mattered if she was willing to do this for real. And it wasn’t as if she was leaving much behind. A single family member. A single friend, unless you counted co-workers, which Grace didn’t. As for her career, the exciting world of retail wasn’t exactly setting her world aflame. Even if it was a high-end boutique with a twenty percent employee discount. Whoop-de-do.
Stoneman:
I really need to get some work done. Going to have to close out the messenger.
Gracie343:
Are you mad at me?
Stoneman:
No, pet. But I’m not waiting forever. This long-distance domination isn’t cutting it for either of us. I want you in my bed. I’ll give you another month. But if you aren’t on a plane . . .
Gracie343:
I know.
Stoneman:
Are you going to be on that plane, Grace?
She stared at the chat box for a good three minutes. Then he logged out, perhaps tired of waiting on her answer. Maybe pissed. She didn’t know. She waited another thirty minutes like a pathetic puppy to see if he’d come back. Finally, convinced he was gone for the night, she signed out of the chat client.
***
Seven days passed and Lucas hadn’t been online. Grace had sent emails but stopped after three messages, deciding two was pathetic but three was just psycho.
He was definitely punishing her, giving her something to think about. She’d called out sick, unable to focus at work, and was currently flopped across her bed like she’d had a fit of the vapors.
A knock sounded on the door, and she wiped her eyes.
“Open up. It’s me.”
Lainey. Just what she didn’t need. Grace lay there for another few minutes, trying not to breathe, as if her friend had suddenly developed superpowers and would be able to hear her from out in the hallway.
“I know you’re in there. Mrs. Daines said you’ve been holed up in your apartment all day playing depressing music.”
True.
Radiohead
qualified as
music to slit your wrists to
. She knew she was being emo, but she just wanted to wallow in it for another day or two.
“Open up or I’ll go to the super. You know he’ll let me in. He thinks I’ve got a nice ass.”
“Fucking God, just GO,” Grace shouted from the bed. She was now hanging half off, her head leaning back, almost touching the floor.
“I’m going to get the super. I’m going to go get sexually harassed now, just for you.”
Grace rolled off the bed and struggled to stand. When she opened the door, Lainey stood there with a smile on her face.
“Put on something that screams
submissive toy
. We’re going to the club.”
Grace groaned and turned away. If it were any other person,
the club
would mean a trendy indie band and tossing back a few margaritas or doing body shots off each other, if they were feeling especially frisky. But Lainey meant the BDSM club.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Grace said.
“Well, I wasn’t being covert. I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
“I want Lucas.”
Lainey rolled her eyes and steered her by the elbow back into her bedroom where the kinky clothes lived. “Lucas hasn’t contacted you in a week. He’s done with you. Which, in my opinion, is for the best. Eleu isn’t safe, and you know it. You don’t want that life. Don’t get confused on the difference between fantasy and what’s real. It’s fine to fantasize, but this isn’t what you want.”
“No. It’s not what
you
want. Don’t project.” Grace didn’t have the energy for a fight, but she wasn’t going to have Lainey acting like everybody wanted and needed the same things just because it was more convenient for her worldview.
“Eric Tatum is an investment banker. He’s a respected member of the community. He’s looking for a 24/7 sub. Just meet him. Talk to him. Play with him a little. See if something clicks.”
Grace flopped back on the bed again as Lainey pulled out an outfit.
“Black is so overdone, but it’s slimming.”
“I’m a size six,” Grace said, her words coming out muffled against the arm she’d dramatically thrown over her face. She was plenty slim enough and not in the mood to play kinky Halloween dress-up for a pretend master at the club.
“Just put it on. If you don’t like him, I won’t bother you anymore. You can go back to wallowing about how your one shot to give up all your freedom to a probable deranged lunatic on an island on the other side of the world was lost to you forever.”
“I hate you,” Grace said. But she took the outfit. If being a walking cliché for one night would get Lainey off her back, she’d gladly comply.
***
Edge
was located on the far end of town in a renovated chair factory. The club had three levels meant to correlate with various membership dues. Though it was really more of a way to funnel money into the club, many of the higher-tier members considered platinum membership like some badge of true kinkiness.
The tiers were silver, gold, and platinum. Grace and Lainey were silver members, which gave them access only to the main level. Gold members got access to the main level and the second floor, and platinum members got access to everywhere including the premium dungeons. Whatever that meant.
Grace had stuffed herself into a leather corset and boy shorts. Fishnets covered her legs along with thigh-high boots. Her hair was in a high ponytail that threw a little
I Dream of Jeannie
into the look.
“I feel ridiculous.”
“Well, you look great. You loved that outfit when you bought it,” Lainey said.
A year ago, when I was still playing.
Since Lucas and the possibility of Eleu she’d lost a lot of interest in costumes and props and protocol. It seemed all so fake. A bunch of scenes. A bunch of play actors waltzing across a stage where they competed for the
really real kink prize.
Grace’s arm went numb when Lainey squeezed it and wouldn’t let go. “He’s here,” she breathed.
“If you’re so excited, why don’t you go for him?”
“Oh, I wish.”
Grace turned to see a man standing in the corner that fit the tall, dark, and handsome cliché as if it had been stereotyped especially for him. He raised his shot glass and nodded before downing the drink and setting it on the counter, his eyes never leaving his prey as he moved toward them.
Last year she would have hyperventilated at the idea of a guy like that showing her even that small bit of attention, especially considering your average master didn’t have the self-control to put down the corn chips and beer, judging from some of the beer guts she’d seen.
“You don’t mind if I whisk her away, do you, Lainey?” Eric said when he reached them.
Grace arched a brow. “Don’t I get a say in any of this?”
His eyes swept over her. “You’re here aren’t you? And you’re dressed like you’re interested.”
She shrugged, already ready to go home. Lainey moved between them, linking their arms in a blatant attempt at matchmaking. “Go, Grace. Have fun. What harm is it going to do? If Lucas IMs you again, you can always go back to talking to him.”
Grace’s eyes widened and she looked quickly to Eric. But he just chuckled. He’d clearly been informed of the Lucas situation. She wanted the earth to open and swallow her. It was looking less like a set-up and more like an intervention by the minute.
Before she could form a reply or a good line to get her out of the club, Eric was leading her toward a set of stairs behind a gold rope.
“Where are we going?”
He simultaneously flashed his pass to both her and the bouncer. “The platinum level.”
Ugh. He was one of
those.
As if reading her mind only to find her insanely adorable, he laughed and shook his head.
The difference in the lower level and the main level was like the difference in steerage and first class on the Titanic, except in this case, the luxury was below.
The décor was plush and decadent, while still being scary as hell. The contraptions upon which both men and women were being bound and whipped were complicated and ornate. Eric took a glass of champagne off a tray and handed it to her, his shrewd eyes taking in her reactions.
“Intimidated?”
“No,” she half lied. The half part was the impressiveness of the setup only. She’d tried a 24/7 relationship with all the props and protocol. It had left her cold because at the end of the day, she could leave him and go back to her former life.
Eric maneuvered her to a private booth out of the way.
“I’ve done the 24/7 thing before,” she said when they were settled.
“Oh?” he said, not betraying any emotion on that topic one way or the other.
“It was all just a game. A big, elaborate game.”
“And you want it to be real? That’s why you’re willing to risk everything to go to Eleu?”
Grace took a sip of the champagne, trying to hide her surprise when it turned out to be high quality. Platinum level members might not be more kinky than others, but they certainly were getting a different experience at
Edge
.
“Are you going to mock me or tell me how stupid I am?”
“Not at all. I understand completely. But are you sure you can’t have that kind of bond with someone here?”
“And that someone would be you?”
“I’m looking, yes. But I’m not offering anything until I find the right person. I know at least that you’re serious if you’ve been considering going to Eleu. Though I do think you have things a little confused.”
Oh, here we go.
“How so?” she asked, careful not to betray her annoyance with his paternal manner.
He leaned back in the booth, his arms crossed over his chest, a pose no doubt meant to showcase his manly masterfulness. Grace waited for the strutting peacock routine to run its course.
“I think,” he said, “that reality in social situations is constructed and propped up by the group. For example, marriage is real because everyone in society agrees it is. Ceremonies and legal marriage contracts are just a way to prop up the reality. We have the same thing in the kink world with our clubs and protocols and titles and labels. It’s all just social reinforcement. But is a law really more real than a relationship? Who has the real relationship? A couple who hates each other but nevertheless are still bound by a piece of paper, or an unmarried couple with a real bond?”
An intervention was exactly what this was. She hoped he wasn’t about to demonstrate why he was
real
to her on one of the pieces of expensive dungeon equipment. A spanking horse less than five feet away had just been abandoned. Grace’s eyes kept drifting to it.
Eric pulled out a card and pushed it across the table. “Call me when you’re ready to consider what I’ve said, and we’ll talk further.” He slid out of the booth.
“That’s it?” she asked, her mouth gaping a little.
“I’m not here to win you, just to pass along a little common sense and hope it takes.”
The condescension in his tone pissed her the hell off. She stood and folded the card into a tiny square. “I’m sorry you wasted your time, Mr. Tatum.” She dropped it into the champagne flute and went back upstairs to the silver level.