Strapped (20 page)

“When I wore that dress in Russia, I couldn’t read your reaction.”

“So you wore it for me then?”

“Of course I did, though you didn’t seem happy at the time.” I study Taylor’s face as he recollects that night.

“At the time I knew I couldn’t have you and seeing you everyday was hard enough. Then you walk into the lobby looking so fucking hot.” He feeds me a spoonful of the paella. “I couldn’t even look at you, it was too much. I knew guys would be hitting on you all night, and there was no way in hell I was letting you leave with anyone else.”

“Letting me?” He grins, but doesn’t respond. “You could have had me that night, and the night of the gala.”

“Shy, you have no idea how hard I fought that night.”

“I thought you didn’t want me. I came back with your jacket hoping you would kiss me. I wanted you to kiss me so badly.”

“I have never fought so hard to stop myself. I don’t know who I was kidding, it was inevitable, but I thought I could exert my willpower over my feelings for you.”

“I’m glad you caved.”

“I would love to go back to that moment and pull you into my room. You looked amazing in the dress. It took my breath away.” I recognize the look in his eyes. He stands up and takes me by the hand into the bedroom that he now keeps unlocked. He kisses me passionately, slowly. This is different from the hotel or the locker room, his movement is slow and methodical. He strips me down to my lace underwear, a baby blue and cream lace number selected by Mona. I unbutton his shirt, kissing his chest. He stiffens, I forget sometimes that I am the only woman who he has allowed to touch him. He kisses my neck. “I want you on top of me,” he whispers into my ear. He pulls me towards the bed and sits as I stand in front of him. He gently pulls down one of the straps of my camisole, then the other. They collapse so that my breasts are barely peeking out. He nuzzles them gently, then suckles on them. He is so so soft with his touch that it makes me quiver; it is almost too much. I take a deep breath to overcome the chills and caress his hair. He looks up at me, just stares at me, without doing anything. “I should have taken you that night, Shy.” He pulls down my lace panties. “Your body is beautiful and feminine.” He kisses the right side of my stomach, working his way down and across just to the side of my bellybutton. It tickles and I squirm. He lays back and I admire his body, a fine sculpture. The masterpiece, a phallus, awaits me. I climb on top of him, tentative, as this is the first time we have been like this. I slide onto him, letting out a sigh as he fully enters. I hear him breathe with me. He cups my breasts, gently pressing my nipples between his fingertips. I feel so full, everything in between my legs is alive. I am so close to being there that I have to go very slowly, or else it will all be over too soon. His large hands grip my waist, steadying my pace and applying more downward pressure so that the feeling is intensified. I look down at him and watch him admire my body, as he tugs on his lower lip with his teeth. “I wish you could see yourself. The view down here is amazing.” Using his lesson from earlier today, I play with my breasts. The feeling of him inside of me, his hands on my waist, his eyes admiring me, my own hands on my body, the pleasure I feel from pleasing this man, all culminates between my thighs. At once, my body contracts and expands, waves of pleasure rippling through every cell. “Shy, baby...” Taylor follows me.

We lay on the bed together. He runs his fingers across my back, barely touching me, and it puts me in a hypnotic state.

“That was nice.”

“Yeah it was. I’ve never let someone on top of me before.”

“Really? I thought you had so much experience.”

“It’s got to do with the touching thing. It’s too risky, and I don’t like feeling out of control.” This makes me feel very special.

“So what did you do? Before me?”

“I had strategies, just like I do with everything else.”

“Indulge me.”

“Does it matter what I did with other women?”

“Well, I think there is a specific reason you’re hiding it. You know, talking about St. Pete’s reminded me of the fact that you mentioned you and Tatyana had something in common. I can’t believe she knows more about you than I do.”

“She knows one thing Shy, you know many more. Am I sensing some jealousy?”

“You were going to have sex with her that night. Weren’t you?”

“If you must know, it was a possibility, but we didn’t click. Plus, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and it freaked me out a bit.”

“Why did you lie? On the balcony you told me you weren’t interested.”

“Because I didn’t want you to think less of me and because I liked you. Honestly I wasn’t feeling her, but I just figured I should meet with her since she asked.”

“It really upsets me that you won’t tell me what it is you two have in common.”

“Shyla don’t you understand I don’t tell you because I am afraid you’ll freak out?”

I prop my face on my hand. “Taylor! Do you think hiding things from me is not freaking me out? How about the other night? I’m still here after that. Eventually you will have to tell me, so you might as well start now. I can’t do this forever. You need to start telling me things.”

“Okay. Okay.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “Did you notice she was wearing a ring?”

“You mean that monstrosity on her hand that she kept fiddling around with? Yes!” Taylor’s face goes from very serious to a faint smirk.

“I love it when you’re snarky.” He sits up. “Well, I can tell you she wasn’t wearing it for fashion purposes. She had it turned down most of the night, only the band was visible. When she came over, she started to play with it, and turned the emblem up, to see if I recognized it. Sometimes people just have a feeling and I guess she had that about me. It was actually surprising, the ring she used is very uncommon, most people use a different version now. It really caught me off guard.”

“What does it mean?”

“People don’t really wear it in the US, it is mostly used in European countries.” My stomach is tightening, I can sense he is dragging this out because he doesn’t want to tell me.

“Taylor. Tell me.”

“You have to promise you won’t pass any judgement.”

“As long as you aren’t hurting anyone or killing anyone, I won’t.” His facial expression does not reveal reassurance. In turn, my stomach tightens further, my breath shallows.

“It’s called the ring of O.” He pauses before delivering the next line. “It’s a symbol worn by those who practice BDSM.” His body is tense, the mood in the room has gone from very light to very heavy so quickly.

“B-D-S-M?” I repeat it back to him slowly. I think I know what it means, but I hope that my hunch is wrong.

“Bondage. Discipline. Sadism. Masochism.” He says each word slowly, each one sounding like a confession.

The air is dead and silent as I take this all in. I want to be careful with what I say next. I get lightheaded and my chest tightens. I don’t know what to do with this information.

“Say something.” He looks regretful.

“So how does this apply to you?”

“Before I met you, I had no way at all to get close to a woman. This is the only way I knew how.”

“So you tied them up?”

“Yes. Among other things.”

“Such as?”

“Before I go on, these women were all consenting adults. They wanted to do this.”

“Go on.”

“I can’t list them all, I mean it’s always different, like vanilla sex is different every time, but some of the things we would do are bondage, whipping, caning, asphyxiation, electrocution, penetration with different objects. There’s lots of things. The women get to set the boundaries.” He says this with the same matter of factness as reciting a grocery list. I start to feel panicky and detached, as if I am a spectator watching the scene unfold.

“So we just do ‘vanilla’ sex? Do you find it boring?”

“Shy, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just the universal term for non-BDSM sex. To answer you, no I don’t find it boring. You have to understand the things I am doing with you, I haven’t done with anyone before. There are lots of firsts for me with you. I never let my subs touch me.”

“Subs?”

“Submissives. The dynamic usually consists of a dominant and a submissive person. The dominant person acts out on the submissive. When you enter these relationships, you usually discuss what you are or aren’t willing to do. So the submissive can still sets boundaries, even though once those boundaries are clear, the submissive then has to do what the dom says within the preset parameters.”

“Do you want to do those things to me?”

“I want to do whatever you want to do.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“If you wanted to partake, I would be happy to, but that would be your decision.”

“So it still turns you on?”

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. His tone changes on a dime. “Yes, Shy. What do you want me to say? I am a sick fuck. Okay?”

“I never said that.”

“Your face says it all Shy. You’re looking at me like I am a fucking monster and I very well may be.”

“This is a lot to take in Taylor. You should have told me in the beginning.”

He stands up. “Would you be here if I did?” I stay silent. “I didn’t think so. I always tell my partners upfront before we do anything, but I really care about you and I was afraid that you would run away screaming. I tried Shy, I tried my best to keep things from happening between us. I knew the night of the gala you wanted me to kiss you, I could smell it on you. I didn’t because I was afraid that you would reject me once you found out who I really am.”

“Well, I found that creepy book and I am still here, aren’t I?” He paces in his sweatpants, back on forth, looking very stressed. “Taylor, does that book have to do with this?” His eyes confess. “Christ!”

“Yes. They were all of my submissives.”

“So is that some sort of a trophy book? I knew it!” My volume is beginning to rise. “Am I next?”

“No! It helps me remember details and other important information just in case they try to pull some shit.”

“Like what?”

“Oh I don’t know, like blackmail a fucking multi-million dollar sadist!”

“You’re a sadist?”

“I’m a dom Shy. I like to tie up pretty girls and smack them around, and make them beg and scream and fuck them.” The words sting my eyes. I remember those exact words in the stairwell today. Has he said those words to them too? It hurts to think of him with other women. While I knew all along that the book could have been a list of lovers, now I know for certain and the reality of it all weighs heavy on my heart. Who is this person in front of me? Just hours ago, we were dancing and laughing, and now, he is speaking so callously. His fiery facial expression melts off of his face when he sees my eyes well. He runs to my side on the bed. “No, Shy...no, no, no...don’t cry.” He sounds panicked, as though he just realized that he made a huge mistake. “I’m sorry. It’s my temper. I’m touchy about this...I don’t want you to freak out and run. Please.” I need some time alone to process all of this. I can’t do that in this house with him. My feelings towards him cloud my thoughts. I know what I am about to say is going to upset him, so I say it as calmly as possible. He sits back on the bed.

I swallow and state to him in a calm voice: “Taylor, I am not leaving you, but I need to go home to sort through all of this.” His eyes widen with distress. He gets up and takes a deep breath, looks at me earnestly and calmly says: “Shyla, please don’t leave. You don’t understand what this will do to me if you walk out on me after telling you this.”

“Taylor, I am not walking out on you. I just need some time alone. You have dropped a huge bomb on me here.”

“You wanted to know.”

“I had to know.”

“We can be happy. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“We can’t just pretend this side of you doesn’t exist. It is obviously a huge part of who you are.”

“Shy, how many ways can I tell you? I just want to be with you. Don’t you understand the profoundness of the fact that I let you touch me? Not one of those women in that book ever held me, ever kissed my chest, ever caressed my back. They were sex slaves. I know that makes me a creep in your eyes, but you have no idea what I have been through.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t. Please respect that, I have told you so much already.” And he has. I let it go for now.

“Taylor. I am crazy about you, more than you can understand. I just need to process this, that is all. I don’t know what has happened to you in the past, but I won’t leave you. I am not like whoever hurt you in the past.”

His voice is still. “Please.”

“Taylor. Don’t torture me like this. This is hard enough as it is. You know what it’s like to want space. Your entire life has been a battle with getting people to understand this.”

He sits looking down in silence. He looks young, ashamed, vulnerable. I so badly want to hug him, but then I would never leave. I can’t get a grasp on him. We haven’t even broached the subject of the room, his past or how he is blackmailing these women. He has a dark side. He tried to warn me, but it’s too late. At this point, there is danger both in developing the relationship and in leaving it. I quietly stand up and put on my clothes. He doesn’t look up, he just sits there, almost catatonic. The other night he asked me if I would leave him and I said I wouldn’t. I meant that.

I walk over to him and run my hand through his soft, thick locks. “Just give me a little time to digest this and we’ll talk.” He nods in acknowledgement.

Chapter Eighteen

This time, there are no tears during my drive home. Instead, I am numb with disbelief. I laugh at the ridiculousness of my predicament: Infatuated with a young, gorgeous, sensual, enigmatic multimillionaire, who can cook a delicious paella, who only accepts my touch, and has a fetish for torturing women. What did I expect? He did try to warn me that he was different, a loner. He is not forcing me to do anything, that is clear, but that doesn’t mean he won’t miss it. I just feel that he is suppressing this part of him out of concern that I will react poorly.

Once I enter my apartment, I realize for the first time how bare it has become. Everything of Rick’s is now gone. My heart aches at the thought that he and I may never speak again. I thought that we could maintain a friendship, but his reaction to seeing me with Taylor the other night tells me this may not be a possibility, at least not for a while. I lay on my couch and remember my last pitiful descent into depression. I sit back up; I won’t allow this cycle to continue. I grab a pen and paper and decide to approach this like any other major decision. I draw a t-chart, one side labeled PRO, the other CON. This calms me. It creates the illusion that I have some control over the situation.

I pull out my laptop and google BDSM. Just as the screen pops up with hits, I receive a text.

Taylor:

I’m sorry.

The short message breaks my heart. I want to hold him in my arms because the last thing I want to be is the source of his pain. At the same time, this beautiful man who makes me laugh, makes me feel like a schoolgirl, cooks for me, pleasures me, drives me up the wall with his mood swings, how can this be the same man that keeps a secret blackmail diary? Cognitive dissonance continues to prevent me from fully acknowledging his dark side. Yet how could I not? He does have mood swings, he does keep secrets from me, he is domineering, he has issues with anxiety, and can be very rough in bed. I shouldn’t be entirely surprised. I choose not to respond to his text right away knowing he will lure me back. Instead, I plunge into my research. I am immediately overwhelmed by the massive amounts of information and discover that there is a huge spectrum of behaviors in this lifestyle. I find a Psychology Today article:

Of every 10 people who reads these words, one or more has experimented with sadomasochism (S & M), which is most popular among educated, middle- and upper-middle-class men and women, according to psychologists and ethnographers who have studied the phenomenon.

The word he mentioned that frightened me the most was “sadist.” Researching that opens up more questions. I become even more curious about his childhood experiences after reading the following on a wiki page:

Unfavorable experiences during childhood or in early stages of sexual development are believed to be one of the major contributing factors in the development of a sadistic personality in an individual. It has also been observed that sadism or a sadistic personality can also get developed in an individual through conditioning. For instance, continual connection of a particular stimulus with sexual enjoyment or of happiness with the anguish of others can cause sadism or sadomasochism.
1

In the Freudian theory of
psychosexual development,
guilt
is integral to sadistic and masochistic sexual tendencies, signaling either an incomplete or an incorrect sexual development of the child.
2

While the word is scary and can have terrible implications, it too has a spectrum of severity. The experts seem to agree that BDSM is not inherently pathological, but in some cases it can be tied to such behavior. I quickly realize that while researching will help me learn quite a bit about BDSM as a whole, I will have to sit down with him and learn the details about how he personally adopts this lifestyle. Furthermore, I have to reflect upon myself how I can fit into this part of his life. While he has never asked me to do anything for him, if I am going to stay with him, I don’t think I can make him close off an entire part of his sexuality for my sake. Selfishly, I understand what makes him such an incredible lover is that he is very in tune with his sexuality and he likely would not be had he not discovered BDSM. I decide he and I will meet for dinner at a neutral location where I can ask him questions, no holds barred. There are things I need to know and I will no longer compromise when he tries to change the subject. Specifically, I must know what the hidden room holds. I understand learning about his family and past may take longer and I respect that, but the room, that is in the present, so I must know its contents. I also must know more about what the book holds and what exactly he is holding over these women’s heads. Finally, I text him back:

------------------

1. Sadistic personality disorder. (2013, June 8). In
Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.

2. Sadism and masochism (as medical terms). (2013, April 22). In
Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.

Shyla:

I don’t want you to be sorry. I am glad you opened up to me, but you have to understand, it was a lot to take in. I want to meet you for dinner tomorrow somewhere I can ask questions. I know it is hard for you to share, but you have to understand that in a relationship people TRUST one another and SHARE feelings and secrets. You have to work with me.

I hold my breath as I send the text. About 10 minutes later, I receive a reply.

Taylor:

I’ll try to talk. Sometimes the words won’t even come out. When you walked out today, you don’t know the effect that had on me. My friend has a restaurant. I have arranged for us to have the rooftop to ourselves. I’ll have Harrison pick you up.

I open up the camera roll on my cellphone and look at pictures of the trip to St. Petersburg. How can I miss him so much already? I smile through moistened eyes as I flip through pictures of us on the boat. In the time that I have known him, so much of my life has changed. He has shown me so much that I didn’t even know I was missing and maybe, just maybe, this is the evolution of our relationship. Could I possibly enjoy this lifestyle? I shake my head at the thought. Who am I? Am I seriously considering BDSM? He hasn’t even asked me. I shelve the thought for another time. My eyelids begin to weigh heavy as the days events crash down on me. I curl up on my couch with the TV on because it doesn’t feel nearly as lonely as my empty bed.

The next morning, all I can think about is Taylor. I miss him, I want to be with him, but at the same time the nagging uncertainties plague me. The truth is, this has less to do with trusting Taylor, and more about my strong desire to be normal. I didn’t even know I cared about fitting in, but now that I am in love with a person who lives on the fringe, I am terrified to become an outsider, a weirdo.

Our dinner cannot come fast enough. There are so many questions I want to ask, so many answers I am afraid to hear. I barely eat as the nerves consume my thoughts and appetite. At six o’clock sharp, Harrison buzzes for me. I don a low cut black flowing maxi dress with gold flat sandals. My hair is wild and my eye makeup is dark, but my face and lips are natural. Harrison opens the door to the Bentley and I am shocked to see Taylor inside. I had assumed we would meet at the restaurant.

“You don’t look so happy to see me.”

“No, of course I am. I just am surprised to see you here. I thought we would meet at the restaurant.” I slide in and the butterflies have not vanished. This feels like a first date.

“You look amazing. I love your hair like that, it looks sexy.”

“Thanks,” I say bashfully. I don’t think I will ever get used to the fact that Harrison can hear us.

“So how are you feeling?”

“Honestly, nervous.” As I say this, his face sinks.

“Why? Do you feel unsafe?”

“No...no! Nervous in the sense that there is a lot to talk about. It all feels so heavy.”

“I hope I can assuage your concerns.”

We are taken to a secluded rooftop with beautiful views of the city lights and the night sky. Mini paper lanterns hover over us, emitting a soft yellow glow. The setting is so dazzling, but this dinner should be more like an interrogation than a romantic night out. We both start with some wine. Taylor is the first to say something as the server walks away, it is as if he was just reading my thoughts.

“Here we are dining in this beautiful scenery, but we can’t enjoy one another because you can’t even trust me. I don’t mean that in any way as a snipe towards you. I am so enormously fucked up and full of baggage that I can’t possibly embark on the normal course of a relationship.”

“Taylor...I trust your intentions. I think you’re a good person, otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. It’s just that I need to fully understand what I might be getting into.” I take a sigh, and start to feel more relaxed. “I had all of these questions I was going to ask. I had this whole thing mapped out in my head and now that I am here, I don’t even know what to say.”

“What do you want to know? I can’t guarantee all the answers, but I’ll try.”

I take a deep breath, scanning my thoughts. I let the questions pour out in no logical order. “How did you meet the other women? How did you find so many women to do this?”

“Well, there is a different story behind each one, but honestly...the majority of them were from clubs and other venues where one can meet people with similar tastes. If you click with someone, you come to an agreement. That was the majority of them, some were not like that.”

“Like Emily...”

“Yes, Emily was hired to be an assistant. I know that makes you think there is some sort of plan I have for you, but what happened with Emily is nothing like what is happening with you.”

“How so?”

“Well, I had absolutely no feelings for her. I did not hire her directly, she was hired by HR. Coincidentally, she was attractive and I knew she liked me and I saw someone I could...” He pauses, but I think he realizes he has to complete the sentence. “...groom.”

“Groom?”

“Yes, if she consented, I could show her the ropes. She did and I did.”

“So what happened?” I feel the jealously cooking up inside of me.

“She couldn’t take the fact that I would never let her touch me. She knew deep down that I could not love her back. She left, heartbroken.” He says this so matter-of-factly.

“Do you feel any guilt about that?”

“I know I should say yes, but no, I do not. She and I had an agreement and I was very clear about my boundaries, both physically and emotionally.”

“Don’t you think you took advantage of her? I mean you said you knew she liked you and you saw that as an opportunity to ‘groom’ her...That sounds manipulative.”

“Well, that goes both ways...She saw an in with BDSM and thought she could take advantage of the situation to guilt me into a relationship. She was a nice girl, but I always had the feeling she was in love with the potential lifestyle, not me.”

“I doubt that is entirely true.”

“Meaning?”

“Well...what is there not to love? You are intelligent, gorgeous, ambitious and fun. Now, I don’t know if she saw all of those sides of you, but I can easily see why many women would fall in love with you. It’s not very hard.”

He snickers. “I would never describe myself as easy to love.”

“Did she really leave to get married?”

“Yes, eventually she left town and married some guy. That was after she quit.”

“So did you date, like, formally? How were those relationships different from ours?”

“Well, no. The relationship is based on a power dynamic, mainly sexual. It’s nothing like us.”

“How so?”

“Well, like I said yesterday, we establish guidelines. We tell one another what we can or cannot do. It differs from partner to partner”

“So give me some examples.”