by Lee Savino
I buck on his lap. His fingers thrust deep, extending the shockwaves of pleasure spiraling out from my lower back. Vaguely aware of the juices running over his hand, I grab his leg to steady myself.
“That’s right. Let daddy take care of you.”
“Thank you, daddy,” I say as soon as I catch my breath.
“You’re welcome, baby. The thought of you going to work, sans panties.” He growls something that might be a swear word, except he doesn’t swear. “Feel what you do to me.”
I drop to my knees and nearly rip his pants in my haste to get him out. “Is this for me?”
“Yes. You earned it; you take care of it.”
With a grin, I do just that.
When I leave the next day, trying not to think about how waking up next to Bear feels right, there’s a text waiting for me from Sawyer. An address.
What’s this?
Tonight at 7. Be there. Is all I get. Bear’s rubbing off on Sawyer.
The destination turns out to be an industrial area of town. Sawyer opens the door to a shady looking warehouse.
“Everything all right?”
“It is now.” He tucks a stand of hair behind my ear, cups my chin and kisses me deeply before drawing me inside. We pass through a large dark space, a room glowing with a low red light, and climb up to a loft lit by the windows above. It’s a sparsely decorated living space, with one of Sawyer’s black and white prints, a leather couch that’s seen better days, and a big screen TV. Derelict chic. I bite my lip before I can ask if he’s squatting here.
Sawyer turns to me and I forget my surroundings.
“So,” he says. “Bear told me he got extra time with you.”
“Um. Yes.” I have the cane mark to prove it.
He gives me a wicked grin that makes my knees wobble. “My turn.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Netflix and chill.”
That doesn’t sound too—
“My way.”
Another grin. Another wobble.
“Strip for me.”
Um.
“Do you need help?”
Biting my lip, I pull off my shirt and wriggle out of my work slacks.
Sawyer runs his hand down my leg, cups my bottom. “Did Bear approve these?” He plucks the lace of my new thong panties. Cream colored.
I nod.
He hooks his fingers under them and rips through the thin straps. “Mine now.”
Holy Hannah, he just ripped off my panties!
“Blue is more your color,” I say. “I have a pair you can wear.”
He grins. “For that I’ll turn your ass pink.”
My cheeks flame. Bear’s spanked me, but Sawyer hasn’t. Does it seem weird? Not weird, different. And exciting.
He seats himself on the tattered leather couch.
“Get my bag.”
“Your purse?”
“Man purse. Murse.”
“Whatever. Just call it a purse.”
“You really want a red ass, don’t you?”
“Spank me, daddy.” I wink.
He groans. The front of his jeans grows tight.
I pad back with his murse and set it warily beside him. He reaches in and pulls out—rope. Lots and lots of rope.
“Have you ever been tied up?”
I blink at him a little unsure.
“Turn around. Hands on your head.” After I obey, hesitatingly, he stands and winds the rope around my chest, stopping to undo my bra before looping the rope over and under my breasts. They stand at attention, begging to be touched but he’s frowning, in the zone, kneeling to loop rope around my legs and hips, makeshift rope panties.
“Too tight?” he tugs, and I grunt in the negative. “Don’t worry, I’ve always got a pair of scissors close.”
“You don’t just rip the ropes off with your bare hands?”
He swats my bottom, lightly.
“Is that all you got?” I sass.
“Bear didn’t say you were a brat.” He sounds happy.
“Maybe I’m good with Bear.”
“He gets good and I get naughty?”
I raise a brow and he chuckles, wrapping me with more rope. “I’m okay with that.”
He concentrates on tying a final knot. “There.” He tugs and I sway a little. “It’s supposed to be snug.” He rises and takes me in for the first time. The rope loops around my legs, slides over my crotch before connecting to the winding masterpiece that frames my breasts.
“Evie,” he sounds pained, like he’s tied up instead of me. I like. “I knew it would look good but…”
His thumbs stroke my nipples. I grab his wrists and he makes a pleased sound.
Next thing I know my wrists are loosely bound behind me. My shoulders aren’t drawn back too much, but I can’t free my hands. Then he’s leading me closer to the couch.
“Now what?”
“Now” he tips me over his lap, guiding me. His hand smacks my ass. “How hard does Bear usually spank you?”
"I don’t even know how to answer that. Why don’t you ask him to show you? Show don’t tell, the best way to find out—ow!”
“I’ve had about enough of your lip,” Sawyer lets loose a flurry of smacks onto my bare ass. The rope frames my cheeks, similar to the weave around my breasts. He tugs the single crotch rope and lightning shoots through my brain.
“Like your rope?”
“Nnghnghh,” I grunt and he laughs. He produces a remote from somewhere and clicks on the huge screen. All of a sudden, we’re watching a movie, him clothed, me naked, tied up and tipped over his lap.
“Are you gonna free me?” I ask after a few minutes.
“Hush or I’ll gag you.”
Guess not.
I don’t complain again, and he rewards me, fondling my breasts, running strong fingers over my labia where they’re plumped around the crotch rope. He makes it vibrate between my legs and tells me I can come. As soon as my orgasm washes through me, he starts building another.
I don’t pay much attention to the movie.
He plucks the rope between my legs again and again, and loosens it to play with my ass. Before I know it, his index finger circles my back hole. I tighten my cheeks.
“Uhhhh…”
“You a virgin back here?”
“Yeah.”
“I call dibs.”
“Bear already did.”
“He’s not the boss of me.” Is that a tinge of bitterness in his tone? I stare at the screen and let the silence stretch. “Sorry,” Sawyer mutters after a minute. He mutes the movie and arranges me on my back, head on the cushioned arm. “If you need a break, tell me to stop,” he orders, and lowers his bright head between my legs.
Turns out the only thing better than his fingers plucking the crotch string is his tongue. I wriggle and writhe and do everything but tell him to stop. My fingers itch to dig themselves into his hair.
“Sawyer,” I finally gasp, and he raises his head.
“Yes?”
“Please fuck me.”
“With pleasure.”
It’s almost midnight before he lets me go. He untied me long ago, only to tie and wind me up again in a different way. I wobble to my clothes and sling them on, not caring that they’re inside out. I had awesome Shibari sex with Sawyer. My strut home won’t be a Walk of Shame, but a Walk of Triumph.
Sawyer watches me dress, hands in pockets. “Can I get you anything?”
After all those orgasms, I’m probably dehydrated, but there’s no kitchen in sight. Not even a mini-fridge.
I wave ‘no, thank you’ and something flickers in his eyes, a hesitancy I’ve never seen in him. He’s usually so confident. “I’d invite you to spend the night, but—” he shrugs at the bed-less loft.
“It’s probably better if we don’t.”
“You spent the night at Bear’s.” He’s so solemn, all of a sudden, I don’t recognize him.
“Yes, well… that was a mistake.”
I edge towards the stairs. “You know how this is all temporary.”
“Evie—”
“I had a good time,” I rush. “Consider yourself even. I won’t let my night with Bear skew the competition.”
“Fuck the competition,” he mutters, running a hand through his blond locks.
“Night,” I gulp, and escape, practically running out of the warehouse. I don’t even snoop in the weirdly lit room like I wanted too. It’s better this way. Safer. Stick to the competition, enjoy the moments, because it’s all we’re gonna have. In two more rounds, this whole thing is over.
Chapter 7
ROUND 5
“What is this place?” We’re back in the industrial part of town. I forgot to ask Sawyer when I met him here a few nights ago.
Bear helps me pick my way across some broken concrete to the warehouse door. “This is Sawyer’s studio.”
“Is he here?” I don’t know how Sawyer will like Bear bringing me here. Something tells me their friendship is now a bit strained.
“Not now. Come on. I have something to show you.”
Inside is pretty dim, like the first time. I step into a dust-mote filled patch of light.
“What is it you wanted to show me?”
He flicks the lights and they stutter to life. I’m in the middle of a circle of photos, blown up to cover painting sized canvases. My face reflected a dozen times.
“Oh my God.” It’s me, at the beach, hair blown across my face, curves on full display. It’s beautiful.
I’m beautiful.
And I’m crying.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.”
“Anything, baby,” he murmurs. “Anything for you.”
Bear takes me back to his townhouse for drinks and dinner from the grill.
“You play dirty,” I tell him. “I should tell Sawyer you have an edge because you feed me.”
“Not the reason I do it, babe.”
I gesture to the grill and the patio table set for two with my wineglass. “So you’re saying this isn’t all so you can take the lead?”
He drops a kiss on my forehead before he goes back to turning the chicken. “I like watching you eat.”
As usual, his words make me all glowy. I flirt with him through the main course, running my foot up his calf and suggesting he eat something sweet for dessert. I’ll get him worked up and then tell him there’s no way I can declare a winner in the competition. I’ll just have to eat his food and wear the clothes he buys me and ask his permission to come forever.
I’m helping him clean up when my phone rings. Mina. I step into the hall and answer it with a lazy, “Hey.”
“Hey, girl.” I straighten at the unusual greeting. “You still fooling around with Bear and Sawyer?”
“Why?”
“Is it serious?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. What did you find out?” I head to the bathroom and shut the door. “Tell me.”
“Sawyer’s photography has gotten some interest. He’s got a show in a gallery in San Diego, and there’s a space for him to be an artist-in-residence.”
“What?”
“I was hoping you knew. He’s leaving soon.”
I clear my throat. “Well, that’s good.”
“There’s more. I did more digging on Bear.”
“Don’t tell me has an ex-wife or love child,” I try to joke.
“Nope, just a profile on Fetlife. He’s been looking for a while. But he recently changed his status to “in a relationship.”
“Oh,” I choke out. “Well, good for him.” I can’t stop the sinking feeling. I wanted to know whether this was for real or only temporary? I just got proof.
It’s just a game, and it’s almost over. No matter the outcome, I lose.
Still staring at my phone, I walk back to the living room. A big photo greets me. Another black and white of me laughing in the surf.
It must be a regular game they play: pick up a girl and fix her. I was fine playing along until they made it seem like I meant something to them. But I was just Bear’s project. And Sawyer? He took these photos because he needed them for a show.
Maybe he’ll let me keep one as a memory of when I was happy.
“There’s a game on. Figured we can watch that.” He stops when he sees the look on my face.
“Did you know?” I jerk my head toward the picture. “Did you know about Sawyer’s show?”
“Yes,” he says and frowns. “Did you?”
“No.” Suddenly my chest is seizing and there’s not enough air in the room. “I need to go.” If I don’t get out now, I’m going to break down. It’ll be like dressing room panic, but a thousand times worse. Cry-maggedon.
“Evie,” he comes close and cups my face. “Look at me.”
My eyes slide to the left, to the right, anywhere but his.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
I scramble for the door.
“Evie,” Bear calls. I scurry to my car, slam the door and lock it. I waste no time putting him in the rearview mirror.
Over the next few hours, my phone bleats repeatedly. Bear calling, then Sawyer. I drive aimlessly.
I do send one text to Sawyer. Were you going to ask me before using my photos at your photography show?
I’m not in my apartment ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door.
“Go away,” I shout.
“Evie, come on.” Sawyer. He sounds broken, which only makes me angry. Why should he be broken up over this? It was only a fucking game.
I open the door with the chain in. “Game over. I call a draw.”
“Fuck, Evie, this isn’t about the competition.”
“Sure.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “We were stupid. You were running hot and then cold. We didn’t want to pressure you if you wanted an out.”
“Got it. And the photos?”
“I did need pictures for the show, but I wouldn't use them without your permission. I swear. It’s up to you, it was always up to you.”
“Whatever. At least you got something out of this.” I start to close the door and he slips his fingers in the crack to stop it.
“Evie. We never meant to hurt you.”
“I know. It was just a game.”
“No, fuck it. You were the prize. Always. If you believe nothing else, believe that. You’re the prize.”
“Great. I’ll put it on my Fetlife profile.”
He sucks in a breath. “What do you mean—”
“Ask Bear. Goodbye, Sawyer.” I walk away from the door. Eventually he’ll leave.
You’re the prize.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter. If that’s true, he wouldn’t be leaving, and Bear wouldn’t have already found my replacement.
A shout rings out on the lawn outside my apartment. I step onto the balcony in time to see Sawyer storm toward Bear.
“What the fuck, man?” Sawyer plants a hand on his friend’s chest and pushes. Bear doesn’t budge but Sawyer doesn’t seem to notice. “Did you hurt her?”
A rumble from Bear—too low for me to hear his answer.
“You and your stupid kink,” Sawyer shouts. “What did you do to her?”
Now they’re fighting. Fuck. I did this.
Sawyer throws a punch. I’m out the door and dashing down the stairs. They’re facing off on the lawn by the time I’m running towards them.
“Stop! Just stop!”
Sawyer backs off, jaw clenched. “We had one rule—don’t hurt her. What did you do?”
“I don’t know what this is about,” Bear growls. “Evie?”
“It’s no one’s fault. I’m just done.” Cool, calm, sophisticated. Act like your heart isn’t bleeding out on the floor. “Thanks for the memories.” I pause before I head back in. “You can use the photos.” It’s not like I’m going to leave my house anytime soon. I’ll call my cousin with m
y regrets, and my boss to negotiate a work from home offer. I’ll subsist on takeout and gain eight hundred pounds. They can lift me out with a crane when I die.
Halfway to my apartment, a large hand catches my arm. I halt but refuse to look up. “Let go.”
“Talk to me,” Bear orders.
“Too late. Too fucking late.” I rip my arm out of his grasp. “You want to talk? Or do you want to fix me?”
“Evie—”
“I’m not a goddamn project. You, Sawyer, my aunt. What the hell is wrong with me? Why does everyone want to change me? I know I’m pathetic. Can you just leave me alone?”
“You’re not a project.”
“A competition then.
“Evie, I’m not playing a game.” He slams his hand on the wall above my head. “It was never a game for me.”
I stare at him, chest heaving. It hurts inside. It really, really hurts.
He catches my chin, gently. “It’s not a game,” he repeats and says something really scary. “It’s real.”
“And now it’s over.”
Chapter 8
I almost call Mina and ask how hard it would be to change my identity. Wipe Evangeline aka Evie off the face of the earth. Move to Paris. Take up smoking—that might help me lose weight. I’ll be skinny but I’ll still wear all black. Auntie Jen will approve.
I don’t call Mina. I don’t call anyone. I keep my head down, go to work, and pretend I’m an expatriate in a foreign country, with no ties to anyone.
I turn off my phone, which turns out to be a good thing, because Auntie Jen phones me nine hundred times the week before the wedding, volun-telling me to go pick up flowers, bridesmaids gifts, chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting. Be sure not to sample, Evangeline! We got an exact amount. Right up to the morning of the wedding, when she wanted me to fetch the tiara my cousin forgot at her apartment. I get none of these messages, and when I stick my head in to give my cousin my love before her walk down the aisle, my aunt nearly bites my head off.
I turn on my phone as I walk into the church, and, sure enough, it shakes to life and keeps vibrating alerting me of all the voicemails and texts I’ve missed. Nine hundred from Auntie Jen, one from my friend Mina, and one from Sawyer. “I’m sorry.”
