Kill Switch

by William Hertling

  She put the first clamp on, and Charlotte grunted from someplace far away. Igloo added the second clamp, then swung Charlotte back and forth, pulling from the short chain connecting the nipple clamps. Grunts turned to shrieks.

  Charlotte thrashed to the best of her ability, which was not much at all. The sadist in Igloo laughed at this. She slowed Charlotte down, again using only the clamps. Then she removed the clamps, which, perhaps counter-intuitively, was even more painful as the blood rushed back to the sensitive, abused tissue. Charlotte screamed around the rope gag.

  Now it was time for her to come down.

  Igloo untied the gag and wrists, and lowered the hip harness, guiding Charlotte with one hand so that she’d come down on her belly. She kept letting out the line, feeding it through the ring, until Charlotte’s knees touched down. Ass up, Charlotte looked good. At home, this would be a nice place to pause for a sex break. Here, she kept removing rope until Charlotte melted into a puddle. Her breathing eased, slowed, until she was at total peace.

  Igloo stroked her hair, her cheek, and cuddled her.

  “Thank you,” Charlotte whispered, never opening her eyes. After a long pause, she added, “Your turn soon.”

  “Rest first,” Igloo said, petting Charlotte’s back and neck. “If you’re okay, I’m going to pack up my rope.”

  Charlotte nodded, and Igloo began bundling her rope. Halfway through, Charlotte sat up, still spacey, and tried to help.

  Igloo shook her head. “You get dressed. I’ll take care of this.”

  The last hank of rope went into her bag, and Igloo took down her rigging hardware and shoved that in. She took Charlotte’s hand, and they made their way downstairs.

  “Nice scene, good rope work,” said an older, silver-haired man to Igloo.

  “Thanks,” Igloo said, a slight swagger coming into her step despite her best effort to stay cool.

  “Who was that?” Charlotte asked.

  “My teacher,” Igloo said. “One of the best rope artists around.”

  “Well, let’s see if you preen like that after you taste my whip.” Charlotte led her toward the St. Andrew’s Cross.

  Igloo nodded, amused by this sudden change in Charlotte. Every switch found some way to express the dichotomy of being top and bottom in one. It was surprising to see how quickly Charlotte changed, especially considering that she was a puddle on the floor just ten minutes ago.

  They watched as another couple played on the cross. A man in a three-piece had taken off his jacket and was rotating through impact toys. His partner, a blonde in high heels, faced the cross, as he picked up a large wooden paddle.

  “That’s gonna…” Charlotte started.

  The suit guy took three quick strides toward the cross, and in a single motion, smacked the woman’s ass.

  She let out a scream that drew attention across the club.

  “…hurt,” Charlotte finished.

  “Suit and BadGirlNextDoor,” Igloo said. “You know them?”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “He always finishes with the paddle, so they’re almost done.”

  Soon after, Suit and BadGirl cleared off, and Igloo and Essie approached the cross. Butterflies grew in Igloo’s stomach. She’d never bottomed in public, bottoming required more vulnerability, and she’d never bottomed to anyone besides Essie.

  “If you were wearing regular fabric,” Charlotte said, “I’d offer to whip you with clothes on. But between the pleather pants and the mesh shirt, you’re going to have to get naked.”

  Igloo glanced around at the people around the play area, which was a mistake. It would be a lie to say that nobody was watching or cared, because there were, in fact, oh so many people focused on her and Charlotte.

  Still, the panic that came over her in a vanilla setting was at arm’s length here. Nobody was judging here, just watching. And she liked the way Charlotte stared at her with hunger in her expression.

  She faced Charlotte head-on and inched the mesh shirt up. She folded it and placed it in Charlotte’s outstretched hand. She shucked her boots, removed her pants, and handed those over too. In underwear and bra, she felt chilly. She shivered, but she couldn't say if that was from cold or nerves. She’d never been whipped and didn’t know what to expect.

  “Of course, you can do what you like, but…I’m afraid the straps of your bra might catch the tip of the whip,” Charlotte said with a slight smirk, her hand still out.

  “I’m sure,” Igloo said. So that’s the way she was playing this. She handed over her bra. “And my underwear? Will that catch the whip?”

  Charlotte assessed it critically. “I think it’ll be okay. Unless you want to take it off. You seem to like stripping. I bet you’re wet right now.”

  Igloo felt herself blush hard and grow wetter if that were even possible. She was thankful for the red lighting. “I’ll keep them on.”

  “For now,” Charlotte said.

  Igloo was all too aware of being essentially naked while Charlotte stood fully dressed in front of her. Charlotte buckled leather restraints to her wrists, then guided Igloo’s right wrist to the left branch of the X, puzzling Igloo. Then she grabbed Igloo’s other wrist.

  “No…” Igloo said, realizing what was happening.

  “It’s way more fun facing out,” Charlotte said. “Then you can see what’s going to happen. And remember, ‘no’ is not a safe word.”

  “It’s going to hurt.” Everything hurt more on the front. Fronts of thighs, stomach, breasts, it was all way more sensitive.

  “That’s kind of the point,” Charlotte said, smiling. She pulled a pair of black goggles from her pocket and put them on Igloo’s face. “To protect your eyes. Can you see okay?”

  Igloo nodded.

  “I have to warm up a bit. Don’t go anywhere.” Charlotte stepped back, unwrapped the whip from her waist, and began a back and forth pattern. She switched from hand to hand, cracking the whip once with each side.

  Charlotte was a different woman now, not the submissive who yielded to her rope, but a magical, playful, powerful person. It made Igloo horny.

  It was a relief too, to be finally free of responsibility. For a little while, she didn’t have to be in charge, wasn’t accountable for herself or anyone else. Charlotte was the boss now, and Igloo could surrender and just do what she was told. It made everything so simple, so free of complexity and the fear of judgement. Charlotte would do what she liked, and Igloo’s only job was to receive.

  Charlotte took a step closer, and the whip brushed Igloo’s thighs, with each back and forth stroke. The sensation was unlike any Igloo had experienced, slightly painful, but each caress like something alive. Her skin grew warm and tingly and she tried to arch into each stroke.

  Charlotte moved in a dance, her feet shuffling left and right, her other hand held out, catching the whip momentarily between strokes, her eyes laser-focused on Igloo. Her gaze shifted up, and Igloo felt the whip lick her abdomen, the lashes painful across her belly.

  There was pain, but also there was trust. Trust that Charlotte would take care of her, that no matter how bad the pain was, ultimately Charlotte wouldn’t damage her. Trust was hard to come by in Igloo’s world, what with her long history of broken boundaries and promises dating back to childhood. To place her confidence and safekeeping in another person was as exhilarating as summiting the steepest rise on a rollercoaster.

  The smile never left Charlotte’s face as the whip traced its way up. Igloo tried to draw away, but, with the cross at her back, there was nowhere to go. The lashes struck the sensitive underside of her tits. She stood on tiptoes to postpone the inevitable, but each stroke brushed ever closer to her nipples.

  She felt on the verge of panic, when the whip lashed one nipple on the backstroke, then the other. It hurt, but only ever so slightly, and she realized with relief that Charlotte had pulled back so that only the feathery tip lightly brushed her. She let loose a breath she hadn’t realized she held, then there was a snap,
and fire broke out on her thigh, then the other.

  Charlotte was cracking the whip now, and where each stroke had been an almost gentle caress before, now they burned, each strike fiercely painful. She was screaming before she realized it, and then it was over. Charlotte came up and hugged her. Igloo nuzzled her face into the crook of Charlotte’s neck, trying to catch her breath. She felt a tear form in the corner of her eye, and held back, not wanting to cry in front of everyone.

  Charlotte stroked the back of her head, and goosebumps rose on Igloo’s body.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her thighs burned painfully, but she nodded.

  “Ready to come down?”

  Igloo wanted to say no. It was warm between her legs, and she wished Charlotte would put her hand there because she really wanted something to grind against. She wished Charlotte would force it on her. Make her have an orgasm now, while she was in pain and restrained against the cross. But she was too embarrassed to ask, and besides, it didn’t feel like being forced when you had to ask for it.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Are you sure?” Charlotte said, and then she did put her hand between Igloo’s legs, and she cupped Igloo’s mound. Igloo rocked her pelvis back and forth and uttered an involuntary whine in response.

  “We could go for round two,” Charlotte said. “I can whip you some more.”

  “No, no more whip,” Igloo uttered, as she ground against Charlotte’s hand.

  “I could put those evil nipple clamps on you, then try to yank them off with the whip.”

  Charlotte must have seen the alarm in her face. “Shh, I’m just kidding.” She pulled her hand away from Igloo’s cooch. Igloo tried to follow, but Charlotte ignored her, and instead unclipped her wrists.

  “Come sit down,” Charlotte led her, still wobbly, over to a bench.

  Charlotte sat next to her, her arm around Igloo’s shoulder. Igloo leaned in, nuzzling her. “I need a minute, okay?”

  “Of course. As long as you need. You want some water?”

  “There’s some in my bag.”

  Charlotte found the bottle and held it up for Igloo to take a sip.

  Igloo looked down at her thighs, found there were perfectly matched rows of five red dots on each thigh where the whip tip had struck. Each one burned. “They’re so perfect. So symmetrical.” What would Essie think? She’d never come home with marks before.

  Charlotte laughed. “I may be obsessed, but I practice for half an hour a day. It’s my exercise program. Do you want help getting dressed?”

  She felt silly as Charlotte helped dress her, but she liked the feeling of being cared for.

  “Can I get you some juice or a soda? You seem like you could use a little something.”

  Igloo nodded without lifting her head off Charlotte’s shoulder.

  “I’m going to have to get up.”

  Igloo didn’t move.

  Charlotte laughed. “You’re cute when you’re submissive.”

  “I want to go upstairs,” Igloo said, her voice small and soft.

  Charlotte lifted her chin so Igloo looked into her eyes. “I do too, but I want you to be all here, and you’re loopy now. I don’t want you regretting anything. Let’s get you that drink. I’ll help you stand.”

  “My toy bag,” Igloo said. She might be spacey, but she’d spent a lot of time putting that kit together and she wasn’t going to leave it unattended.

  “Got it,” Charlotte said, shouldering the bag.

  “I feel like I’m eight years old,” Igloo protested as Charlotte ordered her an apple juice.

  “Shut up and drink the juice,” Charlotte said, holding the plastic cup out.

  Igloo drank, and they sat together, watching others play.

  “Sorry. I don’t usually bottom in public,” Igloo said.

  “You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” Charlotte said. “You did great. How are you feeling?”

  “My thighs burn.”

  Charlotte smiled. “That’s good. I’d be worried if they didn’t.” Charlotte paused. “I know what you wanted before, on the cross. But we didn’t negotiate it, and I was nervous about crossing boundaries.”

  Igloo nodded. It was the right thing to do. “I hadn’t realized I was going to bottom. We should have negotiated more ahead of time.”

  “There’s always next time.” Charlotte smiled.

  The apple juice and time helped, and soon Igloo sat up on her own. They watched a rope suspension on the tall hardpoint, heard screams from somewhere upstairs. The normal background noises of kink night.

  Charlotte’s hand was in hers. Full of pent up sexual energy, all she could think about was getting Charlotte upstairs on a bed. Was she really going to do this? She felt a pit in her stomach. It felt like a betrayal of Essie. And yet…this is what they had discussed, it was why they were doing this poly thing, right?

  “About what I said before…” Igloo’s words trailed off.

  Charlotte smiled. “Yeah?”

  “Any changes in STI status or exposure since we last messaged?”

  “No.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Wherever you want. You’re in charge.”

  It was funny how easily Charlotte switched back to being submissive. Igloo stood and shouldered her bag. “Come.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  They found an empty room upstairs. Igloo closed the door and shut the curtain. She set her bag down, suddenly full of doubts. She’d promised Essie they’d talk before having sex with anyone else. She’d said things might accelerate with Charlotte, but had she been explicit enough? Ugh. Well, this moment was going to come sooner or later, so there was no point in postponing just to tell Essie the obvious. She took a deep breath.

  Charlotte picked up the condoms left on the bed. “We won’t be needing these.”

  “Don’t assume,” Igloo said. She pulled out a dildo. “Unless you don’t like penetration.”

  “Depends on who’s doing the penetrating.” Charlotte lay on her back, opening and closing her legs playfully.

  Igloo pulled out a few hanks of rope and climbed onto the bed. “Since you’ll be tied up, you won’t be doing much of anything.”

  “Bring it on,” Charlotte said with a smirk. She turned and crawled away, giggling.

  “Come back here.” Igloo wrestled Charlotte until she was on top of her chest, then quickly tied Charlotte’s hands together over her head. Charlotte looked up, expectant, breathing heavy. Igloo leaned down and kissed her hard.

  She grabbed a hank of rope and tied a harness around her own hips to hold the dildo in place over her pelvis. She could already smell Charlotte’s wetness.

  “You’re such a slut, I’m not even going to need to use lube, am I?”

  “No, Mistress.”

  Igloo smiled. She hadn’t even needed to tell Charlotte to use an honorific.

  She teased Charlotte with the dildo, putting it in only an inch, and forcing Charlotte to buck her hips up. Every time Charlotte did, Igloo would draw backwards.

  “Please. Please, more.”

  Charlotte was breathing heavy, writhing on the bed.

  Finally, Igloo slowly entered all the way, and Charlotte drew a deep breath. She thrust and ground. She alternated strokes with grinding, testing to see how Charlotte responded, when she ground back, when she arched, watching how her breathing changed.

  Eventually she saw Charlotte climbing toward a peak, her gyrations becoming frantic. Charlotte was bucking hard, her breath quickening. When her stomach muscles clenched, Igloo reached up and placed a hand over Charlotte’s mouth, cutting off her breath.

  “Cum for me,” she said, her voice commanding.

  Charlotte thrashed in the throes of her orgasm, her cries muffled until Igloo finally pulled her hand away, and then she gulped deep breaths.

  “Good girl,” Igloo said, petting Charlotte’s arms and chest. “You want another?”

  Charlotte nodded.

>   “Then you’re going to have to please me first.”

  “Anything you say, Mistress.”

  Chapter 8

  Nathan9 spent some time lying on his back, before he finally got around to wondering why he was there. And exactly where was he? What was he doing? He was rather too relaxed to care much about the details. Then he briefly wondered when they were going to do the surgery. Oh, the procedure. He was in the hospital.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Are we done?” Nathan asked. He finally realized he was experiencing the aftereffects of general anesthesia. He didn’t like this drugged feeling, didn’t like being out of control. He was a hacker who lived on the edge. His currency was control and domination, the only security he’d ever achieve. This state, his mind fragmented, relaxed, unthinking…it was intolerable.

  “Yes, Mr. Abene, the surgery is complete.”

  Nathan figured that Mark Abene wouldn’t mind him borrowing his name for the surgical procedure. Abene’s hacker handle Phiber Optik was too perfectly punny for the situation. The association would be lost on the medical establishment, but someday Phiber Optik would discover that he was on-record as having a fiber-optic ocular implant. Mark would appreciate the inside joke.

  “When can we test it?” Nathan asked, trying not to get his hopes up. Nanovision was the first company with an experimental implant that connected at the origin of the optic nerve. The only chance he had at vision. The implant would, if it worked at all, give him approximately the same visual acuity as a 1980s-era computer display. Inferior to what the visually privileged took for granted, but a vast improvement over the long time he’d spent without vision.

  All these years as Nathan9, he’d been the blind hacker. There was a new generation in the community who thought Nathan9 was playing off some hacker cliché, not realizing Nathan himself was the source of so many of those blind hacker stories that had achieved mythical status.

  “We’re going to get started with your first calibration in a few minutes. When you’re ready, we’ll power up the implant.”