Replay Set 1: Viking Raid, Triple Play, Honour Bound

by Nia Farrell

  She wondered about calling Rowena to learn more about Piers St. Leger but decided to send an email instead, asking if she was free on Wednesday evening. She was. After the Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting, the two of them went to the coffeehouse, ordered, and nabbed a quiet booth in the far corner, well away from other ears.

  Rowena took a sip of her latte to hide her smile. “So,” she said, keeping her face buried in the steam, “you met Sir Piers. You signed the contract. Now you’re thinking, what the hell have I gotten myself into?”

  Elly set down her espresso and shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, I know what you’ve told me to expect. Still, I wasn’t expecting him. He threw me. Just when I thought I had Sir Piers figured out, he proved me wrong.”

  “Classic Piers,” Rowena told her. “He likes to challenge people, see where they are and decide how far he can push them. I think he gets off from taking subs out of their comfort zone. And he doesn’t just push the envelope. He smashes the box. All of a sudden, you’re doing things you never thought you’d do. Beyond that, he’s methodical. Thorough. He never hurries, never rushes. Frustrates the hell out of us, but the subs know that whatever happens is worth waiting for. I had to keep telling myself that, the first time I was fastened to a St. Andrew’s Cross and left to hang while the Doms just sat there, talking to each other, basically ignoring me for most of an hour. After that, well, let’s just say I was still smiling the next morning.”

  Elly frowned. She didn’t want to think about Sir Piers with Rowena or any other sub.

  “Sir Luis,” Rowena said dreamily. “A Spanish bull. Master of the whip. He laid on some lovely stripes and spent the rest of the night soothing me. He’d have been a definite repeat if I didn’t have my one-time rule.”

  On hearing that Rowena had been with another Dom, Elly blew out softly. “If Sir Luis is Master of the whip, what is Sir Piers?”

  Elly was a counselor. She had signed Replay’s non-disclosure agreement. Either one was enough to guarantee confidentiality. Whatever Rowena chose to share would go no further.

  The blonde musician dropped her voice to the barest whisper, so soft that Elly had to lean closer to hear. “He’s a rope master. He demonstrates and trains other Doms in kinbaku, a form of Japanese rope bondage that is his particular specialty. He videos and photographs his work. I know you’ve never seen it, but the patterns and knots he does are amazing. Once you’re released, the ropes leave these incredible impressions on your skin. It’s…organic—and transient—art. The photography makes certain it lives on, after the marks have faded and disappeared.”

  Rowena pulled out her Kindle and connected to the coffeehouse’s free Wi-Fi. Flipping through her bookmarks, she pulled up a webpage of dozens of photographs labeled shibari and kinbaku. Almost every subject was female. One photograph showed beautiful patterns on a nude woman’s hip and thigh that the rope had made.

  About half the subjects were suspended, in myriad positions, and never with the same pattern of wraps and knots. A handful of scenes were outside; most were interior shots of one to three subjects. The most erotic were series of a sub and her Dom, showing the process from beginning to completion.

  “See what I mean?” Regina pointed to a couple of the more challenging poses. “This is magic, but it usually only happens with someone who does gymnastics, or ballet.”

  Or yoga.

  Elly suppressed a shiver, wondering what it would be like to be bound and put on display. She’d have to have implicit trust in the Dom doing it, but she didn’t know if she’d appreciate being flogged after giving herself up for someone’s viewing pleasure. She wasn’t Rowena, to crave the discipline aspect of BDSM.

  “Some of these look like they took hours,” Elly commented.

  “Piers is known for being meticulous, but the results speak for themselves. This is one of his.”

  There was no name to indicate the source of the photograph, but a partially clad woman was bound and suspended from the neck of a centaur’s statue, echoing ancient myth and legend. “That was taken at Replay, in the Roman banquet hall.”

  For a moment, Elly envied Rowena’s agents who would attend her in Imperial Rome. So much so, she was tempted to ask to come then, too.

  “This was done in a private session. Most of the time, Sir Piers demonstrates in the dojo, in bare feet and traditional Japanese dress.” Rowena slid down a few more screens and pointed to a group of related photos. “The ropes for suspension go over bamboo beams like these.”

  The pictures showed a Caucasian woman in a kimono being blindfolded, elaborately bound, suspended in a challenging pose, then cradled in the arms of her Master. The Asian Dom wore a black kimono and no shoes. Elly could easily picture Piers St. Leger doing the same.

  “It’s too bad you won’t get to watch him work. During scenes at Replay, he mostly observes—which is understandable, given it’s his business and reputation at risk.” Rowena fanned the steam away and took another sip. “It might be different if he had a permanent submissive, but he’s a lone wolf, at least for now.

  Changing the subject, Elly asked about the concert that they planned to attend next week. The band that played the early to mid 20th century scenes at Replay was performing World War II era music at the community college where Rowena’s twin Breanna taught music history.

  “Our tickets are for front and center,” said Rowena. “What if I pick you up after work? I can meet you in the lobby. We could do dinner, then drive to the auditorium.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be free after five fifteen or so. Meanwhile, I want you to think about this thing you have coming up. The triple play, you call it? You’ll be with friends you can trust to support you, to see you safe, but you can still call me, any time, day or night, if you need to talk. Okay?”

  That night, alone in bed, Elly lay awake, unable to sleep for thoughts of what Wonderland would be like. What she might see. What Sir Piers would do, if only she would let him. Her last relationship had ended a year ago. She was more than ready to move on. She just prayed that she could come away from her night at Replay with her pride and her heart intact.

  Chapter Three

  Elly spent the next week, nose deep in researching exactly what she’d signed on for, if she chose to join in the play. She made an extensive study of kinbaku and shibari, looking at photographs and watching videos. At night, she dreamed of Piers St. Leger’s hands touching her, binding her, turning her body into living art.

  Jewell called her in for a final fitting on Tuesday. Most of the birthday party goers were due in Wednesday and Thursday, ahead of the scenes planned for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. She didn’t see Rowena while she was at Replay. Thankfully, she didn’t see Piers St. Leger, either. The man had definitely gotten under her skin.

  Rowena picked her up Thursday after work as planned, and they went to their favorite Greek restaurant for dinner. Rowena was in a strange mood, and after a few careful questions, she confessed that she’d run into Micheil MacDonald, the billionaire who had rented Replay and had contracted her alter ego Regina Wright to attend.

  He’d been shopping for books for his little girl.

  Elly listened while Rowena talked about MacDonald. She’d been prepared to not like him. What kind of man rented a BDSM resort and hired an erotic blogger to attend the three parties he was throwing? But Rowena’s research had revealed layers of depth to the widower, and meeting him today, well….

  Rowena hadn’t told him who she was. Without her ginger wig and colored contacts, he hadn’t known that the blonde in retro clothes and hair was Regina Wright. But she’d wanted him to meet her, free of preconceptions. Rowena was glad. She thought. He was handsome and articulate, and he’d actually flirted with her. Now she wasn’t quite sure how to handle Friday night. When they officially met, should she confess? Let him guess? She didn’t know what to do.

  The question remained when they finished and headed to the community college, located past the edge of town, where subdivisions built in th
e seventies gave way to surrounding farmland. Each year, a concert series highlighted artists who performed a wide range of styles. The band tonight was presenting an evening of 1940’s music. Five World War II veterans from the center attended as special guests and were introduced at the beginning of the program.

  The tunes were the soundtrack of a generation. Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, Bing Cosby, Sammy Kaye, the Andrew Sisters. It transported them back to another time, another era. The best part of the night was seeing the joy in the vets’ faces as they recaptured a bit of their youths.

  Neither of them was ready to end the evening, so they headed for their favorite coffeehouse. Rowena still had Micheil MacDonald on her mind.

  Elly lifted her espresso to hide her smile. Rowena didn’t seem to understand that, after months of therapy, she was poised on the edge of a breakthrough. But she needed nudged to take the dive.

  “So...,” Elly started, “the billionaire is single. A daddy. Philanthropist. Innovator. Successful businessman and family man who loves his brother enough to spend a fortune on his birthday bash and pay Regina Wright to attend.”

  “Incredibly handsome,” Rowena added. “Well dressed. Well built. Well read. An Arthur Grey fan. Dammit.”

  Elly chuckled. “Hey, those hardly sound like reasons to despair.” She set down her mug and grew serious as she met Rowena’s troubled gaze. “Honey, I want you to think about what you’ve learned these past six months at SAA. It’s not about sex or celibacy. It’s about healthy relationships. I know you made your one-time rule as a self-defense mechanism, and maybe it would have made no difference either way, but this is the first time I’ve seen you react to a man like this. It may be time to rethink things. Any change involves risk, but I want you to know that my offer stands. Promise me you’ll call if you need to talk.”

  “Promise.” Rowena nodded absently. “Oh!” she perked, digging in her purse. “I almost forgot. I brought you something.”

  Her hand emerged holding two flash drives. “Videos,” she told her. “From Sir Piers, who stresses that you keep them confidential and return them to him when you’re done.” Rowena’s smile was pure Regina Wright. “Demonstrations filmed at Replay. The silver stick is a mixed bag of tricks. The blue stick is all kinbaku. You should find both of them very…educational.”

  They were educational.

  And erotic.

  Uncomfortably, intriguingly so.

  Friday night, Elly watched all the videos on the silver stick. Twice, actually, since each scene was shown as recorded, then repeated with a commentary by the participants. The Doms described what they did, how they did it, what they watched for, how they read and responded to the subs’ needs. The subs described the sensations, the emotions, the euphoria of finding subspace during discipline and receiving gentle, tender aftercare. A few of them revealed what initially drew them to a particular form of BDSM, like role play, wax play, bondage, and impact play—being disciplined with hand spanking, paddles, floggers, crops, belts, tawses, whips, and canes.

  One woman’s story was eerily similar to Elly’s. The woman (about forty, Elly guessed) had once been helpless and at the mercy of others. She found that choosing to be gagged, blindfolded, and bound was empowering, because it was her choice. She had control. Unlike the night where she’d been forced and had given no consent, she was a willing participant and could end the play at any time.

  The woman was married to the Dom in the scene with her but admitted that they both explored BDSM with other partners. They went to clubs to play and have sex. Sex, she stressed. She only made love with her husband.

  The trained healthcare professional in Elly understood what she was saying, even if her religious right upbringing begged to differ.

  She saved the blue flash drive for Saturday, eating breakfast in front of her computer while Sir Piers performed his magic. It was demanding of the Dom and of the subs, who risked circulation problems and permanent nerve damage from the ropes, especially during suspension.

  The first video’s nude male sub was bound on a long, low table in a scene that was artistic and provocative. In the next scene, Oriental music played in the background while a woman, dressed in a pale blue kimono, knelt on the floor of the dojo that Rowena had described. Dressed in black silk, Sir Piers knelt behind her and leaned against her back, dipping his head to the junction of her neck and shoulder and breathing deeply, as if he were inhaling her essence. His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders and pulled on the fabric, parting the kimono, baring her naked breasts.

  In fluid movements worthy of a stage magician performing for a sold-out audience, he bent her right arm behind her back while his left hand pushed between her shoulder blades until her forehead touched the floor. Taking her other arm, he bound both hands behind her in a series of elaborate knots. Lengths of rope banded her chest, above and below her breasts with their hard brown tips, and girdled her silk-clad hips. He pushed her ankle into her groin and bound her bent leg, threw the ropes over the beam, and hoisted her into the air. The second leg was encased in rope and drawn up higher yet.

  The inverted sub moaned and flexed her body, shifting in midair. Sir Piers circled her, adjusted the ropes, and raised her until her head was even with his groin. Elly’s mouth went dry and her sex grew wet when she considered the possibilities.

  Sir Piers moved to stand behind the suspended sub. Fisting her hair, he pulled her head to the side, dramatically arching her neck and exposing it to his fingers, his teeth, his tongue. He took a deep breath and stepped back, releasing her hair and setting her body into a spin, stroking her buttocks, thighs, and breasts as she writhed in the ropes. The scene was highly sensual, an hour of petting and light spanking to the strains of wooden flutes and koto strings, while the Dom constantly changed the ropes and altered the sub’s poses. Eventually, he undid the knots, lowering her to the floor. Freed from the ropes, she found shelter in his arms while he petted her hair and stroked her body, whispering words of praise.

  It was one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen.

  Elly knew he was good, but…damn. The videos showed Piers St. Leger as a master of kinbaku, performing intricately detailed, incredibly focused rope bondage, turning humans into living art with knotted lengths of jute. The Dom and that massive desk of his had fueled her fantasies, but this Piers? This sensual giant of a man who’d knelt on the floor with the sub between his thighs, who’d wrapped her in his arms and cradled her with such tenderness? Jesus. She was afraid that he’d spoiled her for other men…and she hadn’t even slept with him yet.

  Yet?

  Shit.

  Rowena had let it slip that Sir Piers would be portraying the White King to her White Queen. In Wonderland, there would be no avoiding him—not and stay true to their roles. And after a night spent on the sidelines, watching whatever sexual games people played there?

  All he’d have to do was crook a finger and she’d follow him anywhere.

  Rowena had said he was single and unattached—that is, currently without a submissive, in training or otherwise. Seeing him do kinbaku, Elly had to wonder why. Not that it was any of her business, but she had to admit that she was glad. She was free to fantasize without guilt. As soon as she closed her eyes and touched herself, it was his face that she saw. His breath that she imagined, warm on her skin, stirring her hair. His hands that she felt on her breasts and between her legs. His fingers plunging inside her, claiming her.

  Ten minutes and two orgasms later, she tucked her vibrator back in her bedside drawer, changed underwear, and returned to the computer, only to find that the next kinbaku scene was all about sex, with a nude female sub, bound with legs spread wide and lashed to a wooden pole. Clothespins and cords were attached to her nipples and her shaved lower lips. She looked literally trussed and spread and readied for coitus.

  Sir Piers did the bondage, but other Dominants were present. Her Master (who was learning kinbaku and shibari), a number of other men, an
d Amazon Domme Jewell Fraser, the wardrobe mistress at the resort. They took turns touching the sub, stroking her, unclamping her to play with her breasts and nipples and genitals before they had sex with her, while Sir Piers watched, keeping his intense gaze focused on the sub’s face until he called the scene done, undid the ropes, and yielded the sub to her Master for aftercare.

  Feeling off kilter, Elly watched the second video again. She studied it, studied him, searching for that elusive something that would explain why she was so oddly affected by the man. It wasn’t because he was into kink. The Dom was clearly good at what he did. Understanding finally dawned when she realized that he might taste a neck or suckle a breast or bite a nipple, but he never kissed the sub.

  Never kissed any of them.

  No kissing?

  No kidding.

  Watching Sir Piers perform his Japanese rope bondage sparked her interest, but the puzzle he presented fanned the flame. Who was Piers St. Leger, really? How did a man with his looks and his means come to own a BDSM resort? What was in his makeup, to be drawn to kinbaku? What pleasure could he find in tying people up and down when he wouldn’t even kiss them?

  She didn’t know if it was a complex problem or a simple preference. And she had more pride than to let him truss her up like a Christmas goose if he couldn’t even be bothered to kiss her. On the other hand…

  He’d never really seen what she could do with her body. There were a number of yoga poses, from beginning to advanced, that would work with his bondage. If he saw her do a handstand scorpion, king pigeon, or sage half bound lotus, what would he think? What would he do? Would the flexibility of her body be enough to tempt him to use her as his model? When she was bound and at his mercy, would she be bold enough to turn her head and brush his lips with hers? Could she get him to accept a small kiss? Could she make him want to kiss her back?

  Whoa, Elly.

  She braked on that thought and backed right up. What was she thinking? She was going as an observer. Purely clinical.