House of Pain Ch. 09-10

***

Before I fall back asleep, Doug pulls me in to him. His mouth is at my ear.

"Sara," he whispers, "When you wake up next, you are going to be tied up, baby." He isn't asking me, but he is waiting for my acknowledgement, and I'm grateful for the warning. I nod my consent; drift asleep in his arms.

***

I don't know how long I sleep this time, but when I wake up, I find my arms are tied up on either side of the headboard; and my legs are spread wide open, tethered to the footboard. I panic instinctively, struggling in my bindings, for a few seconds, till the veils of sleep fall away, and I remember what Doug has said to me.

I force myself to relax, but my heart is pounding. I search for Doug; he is nowhere to be seen.

"Relax." His voice comes out of the darkness; he sounds calm. He moves forward so I can see him; He's holding a glass of wine; he's watching me.

"Is this what you get your kicks out of, watching me panic?" My voice comes out harsher than I intended; but I can still feel my heart beat.

"Is that what you think?" His voice is very soft. "I get my kick out of watching you making yourself relax; remembering you do this because I asked you to."

I gulp. The air is charged between us; I'm uncertain of his mood. "Are you angry?" My voice is small.

He counters with a question. "Why should I be angry?"

"Because I panicked, because I yelled..." I mumble. I'm slightly sheepish; I'm more awake now, and I feel a bit silly about my reaction.

"No," he says, and his voice sounds indulgent, not irritated. "You are new to this. Your reaction is fairly normal."

"If you knew I'd panic, why'd you tie me up?" I ask. This is important to me.

"I need you to learn to trust me. I will never hurt you, and you need to be completely, utterly certain of that."

A surreal conversation to have at two in the morning.

"I don't know you well enough for that, not yet," I mumble. He wants honesty in the dungeon; he's going to get it.

Doug nods. "I agree with you..." he says. "In fact, you'd be stupid not to be cautious. But this," he gestures to my bindings, "This should be helpful. It should remind you that you've chosen this. At any point, you can safeword. But you haven't; you are still here; you are choosing to obey."

He comes over to the bed; places the glass of wine at the side table.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Sara." His voice is even. "If you don't want me to do so, say so now."

I look at him. I'm not certain of many things; but I know the need that runs through me; the need that has arisen, even through my initial panic at being tied up. My need to place myself in Doug's hands; to cede control to him. Here, now, in this moment, I acknowledge that need within myself, and I give myself permission to explore that need.

I look into Doug's eyes. My voice is absolutely steady. "I want you to fuck me," I say.

He moves; his weight is on me; and I feel every inch of his body imprinted on mine.

He smiles at me. "Look at me; don't close your eyes..." he says quietly, as he plunges inside me in one hard stroke.

I obey, but it is hard. I want to close my eyes as the feeling of him inside me intensifies. I feel his warmth all over me; look into his eyes. This feels... intimate.

I can't look away; I gaze into his eyes as his arousal builds; and mine with it; he is thrusting inside me, and it is hard and fast and so toe-curling good. Then his eyes widen, and I can feel his body stiffen, and he is erupting into orgasm, and I am filled with a primal satisfaction that I caused this.

He rolls off me; his fingers find my clitoris; bring me to orgasm. As the pulsing pleasure washes over me, I moan out his name, and I can hear the need and longing in my voice.

I inwardly tense; I am unprepared to let him become important to me.

***

Things are a little weird the morning after. Not in anything Doug is doing or saying; no, he is the essence of consideration. He's made me coffee and breakfast.

No, things are weird because I'm torn. I don't know what to say to Doug. I could get to know him better, or I can try to keep what we are doing here as a purely sexual thing. I eat my breakfast in relative silence as I contemplate this.

"So you like classical music?" Doug's voice interrupts my meditations.

I nod. I love classical music; I always have. I was the weird teenager who saw Amadeus a million times, and who had a crush on Mozart. As an adult, I try to go to as many concerts in Toronto as my budget allows.

"I have tickets to the symphony Friday night," he says. "Would you like to come?" His eyes are on mine.

I gulp. Clearly, Doug's in favour of getting to know me better; he's just asked me out on a date. And I adore the symphony; and I can't often afford to go.

But yet I hesitate. I have a pattern with guys; I always fall in love with them; I always want to be with them far more than they want to be with me. Yearning has defined my life; I've pined for boyfriend after boyfriend, and I'm warier nowadays; more cautious with my heart.

And then, there's the submission. I've heard what Doug has said about the submission staying in the dungeon. I'm just not sure if I entirely believe it.

To top it all off, Doug's dangerously out of my league. He's rich and successful; gorgeous. I only have to look at his house, and at my studio apartment to see the contrast. Doug's not the person worrying about dragging his clothes to the Laundromat; planning his life around subway construction delays; I am. He has symphony tickets Friday night; I'm usually hanging out in my local dive bar. We don't belong together.

I don't say all of that. Instead, I keep my reply simple, polite. "I'm sorry, I can't." Inside, there's an odd ache in me; a wish that all of my arguments didn't matter. But I'm not twenty-one anymore; and where my heart is involved, I don't jump without a safety net. Doug could easily break my heart; I won't let that happen.

Doug eyes me expressionlessly, but he doesn't pursue the discussion further.

***

"Do you start work tomorrow at your new job?" Doug asks me.

"No, I'm going to take a week off; go up to visit my parents for a couple of days -- they live in Tobermory."

"Nice..." he says appreciatively. "I go every summer, it is beautiful there. Are your parents retired there?"

"No, they run a bar in town," I mumble. As before, I'm unprepared for his warm interest; he's making it difficult for me to keep my shields up.

"Are you driving?" he asks me.

"Yeah, I have to pick up the rental car at the airport tomorrow..." I mutter. Doug wanders over for a coffee refill; refills my cup as well. I take a sip. Good, strong, hot. Words I could use about Doug as well.

"In the morning? Are you taking transit to get to the airport?" he asks me. "I can give you a ride, I don't have anything in my calendar until 11am."

Again, I'm seriously tempted. It'll take me an hour and a half to get to the airport from my house. But I shake my head again. "I really appreciate the offer," I say, "but I'll be fine on transit."

Again, he eyes me expressionlessly. He's not an idiot; he knows I'm deliberately maintaining a distance. But as before, he doesn't say anything.

***

I take my leave right after breakfast. Doug has friends coming over to watch the football game just after lunch. He's invited me to stay; I've declined. For the third time. We make plans to see each other next Saturday, and I run away.

***

Sunday night, I fall asleep in my bed; already missing the feel of Doug against me. And I dream... I'm back in the House of Pain. I'm on the stage; there's music playing. It feels ominous; the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

The stage is cold. My arms are tied above my head; I'm suspended onto a sawhorse; the knife edge of the sawhorse grinding into my pussy, and it is painful. My clitoris is raw; every move grinds it even further on the sawhorse; sending me into agony.

Doug moves in front of me. There's no warmth in his face; he is cold; rigid. He has a whip in his hands; he whips me without a word; hard and fast. I'm shrieking in pain; he is unmoved by my tears. There is no tenderness in this; no sexual pleasure. This is pain. Raw, agonizing pain. I scream. I'm writhing in my bindings; and each move of my body grinds my pussy into the sawhorse; my clitoris is burning in agony. Tears run down my cheeks...

"Doug, please..." I beg.

I start awake; thankfully. There are tracks of tears down my cheeks.

***

"It's just a stupid nightmare," I tell myself, sitting at my little table, drinking a cup of green tea. I'm avoiding going back to sleep. It was so real; so vivid. I can still see the look on Doug's face. Hard; cold; absolutely no pity. A look I've never seen on his face in real life.

I wonder if my dream is a premonition.

***

Tobermory is thankfully devoid of tourists. It's early days of fall, and the traffic dies down after September. My mother feeds me well; my dad and I play pool in the bar. I even beat him once or twice; which I brag about for the rest of the trip.

My mom asks about Colin. The last time I was home, I mentioned I was dating someone.

"We broke up..." I say, keeping the answer short. How do I explain everything?

"Are you seeing someone else?" my mom asks. I ponder Doug; this thing that we are doing; my nightmare. "Not really," I mumble, and change the topic.

***

It is 6pm Saturday, and I'm at Doug's door. I hesitate; my thoughts go back to my nightmare. Even six days later, I'm shaken by how vivid the dream was. I knock on his door.

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Up next - a dark fantasy, most likely.