In a Twisted World {Prince x LeatrixSage}

A line of black cars snaked through the elegant grounds of the Carroll Mansion. The guests exiting those limos wore masks, tuxedos, and fancy dresses, and at first glance it appeared that yet another charity masquerade ball was being held at the popular venue. The entrance, however, held clues that tonight's event was a decidedly different type of attraction.

The first clue, easily visible, was the intricate cobweb made of colored ropes that was spun across the twin grand pillars before the front doors. Elegantly knotted and painstakingly crafted, the web stretched from the ground to the entryway ceiling thirty feet above. A small opening in the middle, shaped roughly like a door, permitted entry to the house itself. And in one upper corner of the striking web, the other clue wriggled slowly, sending an undulating wave through the ropes that made passing guests glance up in curiosity. Like a cocooned insect, a human sized figure was artfully tied in place. The body, for gender was impossible to determine, was girdled so tightly with intricate ropes, layered one upon each other, that it looked almost like a mummy. The slow, erratic writhing of the object was clear evidence that a living person was encased inside.

"Welcome to the Rose and Thorn club," greeted an attractive blonde, one of several workers at a registration table set inside the entry atrium. Like the guests, she wore a mask. In her case, it was an intricate half-mask of dark feathers with ornamental eyebrows made of pearls. A short, black dress sheathed her slim body, the top strapless and cut low, and four inch black heels raised her to almost six feet in height. Bright red lipstick highlighted her full lips, standing out in vivid contrast to her dark outfit. Tapping on a tablet, she asked, "Your name please, sir?"

"Brent," replied the guest, a tall man with dark hair and a simple, black half-mask that hid his upper face. Blue eyes peered from behind the mask, darting around the room, and a guarded smile was visible below. His strong jaw was covered in a weeks worth of scruffy stubble. "Brent Jackson."

"Excellent, if you would please verify your identity, Mr. Jackson," the greeter replied, proffering the tablet for a fingerprint scan. Her eyes widened as she reviewed the results of the scan and she flashed a mischievous smile at the masked man. "Wonderful. I see you are an instructor tonight as well. Here is a rose badge to wear. Umm, If I may be so bold, perhaps you can show me a bit of your technique later, Sir. Shibari is such a fascinating art."

"Thank you, and who knows, I may need a demonstration subject late night if you are lucky," replied Brent with a wry smile. He shook his head apologetically, though, and as he placed the coin sized red badge on his tuxedo lapel he added, "I'm really here to see the masters at work and learn myself, just like you. I doubt I'll be demonstrating anything. But, I'm always happy to share what I know... And who knows, if you still have questions, do find me later."

The Rose & Thorn Club was, of course, a very exclusive BDSM club that catered to a wealthy and international jetset of enthusiasts and titillation seeking voyeurs. Tonight was a special event featuring Shibari masters from around the world showing off their one of a kind "Exhibits". Exhibits in Shibari were living subjects artfully tied up and restrained with ropes. Paired with elaborate back drops, they created an erotic mix of art and fetish that was beautiful, arousing, and emotive. Like all Rose & Thorn Club events, there would be more traditional BDSM scenes demonstrated later in the night, with guests often participating. And for those seeking more discretion, there were abundant private rooms available for guests to explore their desires without an audience. While the Club tried to avoid their events from turning into orgy parties, the late night crowd was known to get a bit... wild.

Brent hadn't been to one of the Club's large events in years, but tonight had piqued his interest as he'd been studying Shibari as a hobby. Evidently, he was skilled enough in the Club's eyes to warrant the instructor badge tonight, which had the advantage of giving him access to specially equipped private rooms as demonstration centers. The downside was that guests would be coming up to him all night, asking questions and seeking hands on demonstrations of this unique art form. While demonstrating with the attractive blonde from earlier wouldn't be a horrible chore, he'd also likely have a fair numbers of couples and less interesting students wasting his time, and Shibari took time to do right. Tonight, Brent truly just wanted to enjoy the exhibits and learn something himself, to be a fan, and as a result was half-tempted to hide the badge.

Inside the party, the fetish aspect quickly became more apparent. Waitresses circulated trays of drinks, their outfits stylized and overtly sexual with leather corsets, short skirts, high heels, and stockings. A large number of the women, and even some men, had collars around their necks, styles ranging from thin metal hoops to thick, leather studded bands. The tuxedos blurred together, but the dresses stood out. They were shorter, lower cut, and more revealing than any normal black tie event. Some were so sheer as to be see though, others had fetish ornaments, laces, buckles, and leather panels, that mimicked kinkier outfits like corsets. And the overall crowd was undeniably attractive and clearly wealthy, the men on the whole a bit older than the women.

Brent took a program and a glass of Champagne from a passing waitress and took time to study the list of Exhibits. One called "In a Twisted World" caught his eye. The piece was created by a famous Japanese master and featured some well know Japanese fetish models.

Seemed like as good a place as any to start.

There was always a certain amount of risk involved in taking these excursions, and as the stretch Audi A8L crept along the line of similar black cars, the tension within it mounted. Inside her elbow-high gloves her palms were damp from sweat. Her heart beat was in her throat, ticking out a rhythm slightly faster than her cool persona conveyed. And Mallory was fidgeting with his lapel again. His tick annoyed her, it made her more nervous than she needed to be. This wasn’t the first time they’d played this little game.

Although, with recent events being what they were, it may very well be her last.

“You should put your mask on,” the heavily sweating, somewhat well-padded man to her right fussed. Mallory was a loyal man, she asked him to risk a lot to take her along under her father’s nose.

“They can’t see inside,” she said. But, she lifted the full-face mask to her face anyway. The base was matt black, but around the eyes and over her lips it shined in a way that made it look wet. A pattern of swirling black glitter patterned the cheeks and forehead of the mask in the style of classic venetian masks. The black make-up around her eyes helped to hide any remnants of her face or features. Only her clear, grey eyes were left. The black dress she wore mirrored the same purpose. The thin, black fabric barely hung bellow her collarbone in the front and clustered into stylish knots at her shoulders – a small touch that seemed fitting, given the focus of the evening. In the back however, the fabric hung in a loose plunge that ended just below the small of her back. It left the pale skin of her back exposed, bare except for the long, thin chain that dangled from the crystal choker she wore. She had worried once that her hair would give her away. The wild bright red and orange curls stacked and pinned loosely atop her head were startling against the sea of black. But, she’d noticed many women with similar hair at other events, and she'd learned not to be so afraid.

The click-clunk of their door being opened made Mallory jump, and Aislinn took a deep breath as he stepped, and then reached back for her. The night air was cool, and there were dozens of people milling about. Plenty of wealthy men were leading high-dollar escorts along on their arms, and that’s what they all naturally assumed she was. At their turn to enter, a slim blonde woman welcomed them to the Rose and Thorn club. Aislinn had seen her before, and she still felt that sharp red lipstick was too harsh. Something soft, more neutral, would make her lips look so much more kissable.

Mallory was sweating buckets by the time he pressed his thumb to the tablet the blonde held out to him. So much so that he smeared the screen, which Aislinn was amused to see displeased the pretty blonde.

“Please enjoy the even, Mr. Mallory,” she chirped pleasantly, covertly cleaning her tablet as Mallory rushed forward.

Aislinn barely had time to admire the somehow macabre, and yet beautifully crafted cocoon in the web of ropes over the entrance. She had just enough time to wonder what the person inside was experiencing before she lost sight of it.

Once inside, she extracted her arm delicately from Mallory’s death grip. The poor man looked like he was about to hyperventilate… but that was par for the course where he was concerned. From a pocket inside is jacket he produced a handkerchief that was already in too sad a state to mop-up the sweat he was desperately wiping from her brow.

“Breath, David,” she whispered with a laugh. Her voice was muffled by the mask, but the look her gave her made it clear he heard her. “We’re in, it’s done, we’re okay. I thought you’d get used to this.”

“It’s the last time-“he started.

“I know,” she rejoined. “Go find some whiskey and smoke a cigar or two. I mean to make the most of my last bit of freedom.” His face turned red at the implications behind her words, but he did not complain. He was a smart man and, by now at least, he knew there was nothing he could say or do to dissuade Aislinn from her course.

“If anyone,” he started, fumbled, and then let out a long sigh. “Be safe.”

Aislinn smiled behind her mask as he walked away. He’d been a member of this club for a long time, and it amused her how easily flustered he became at the idea of her having anything to do with this dark little world of his. What could she say? A woman with no freedom to be her own person seemed like a perfectly fitting character to be a part of the Rose and Thorn.

First things first… Aislinn took in the familiar scenes. Within the walls of the club collected a contradiction of lace and leather, silk and grit, pain and pleasure. The air was intoxication, the scents of leather, sweat, and perfume muddled against wine and broken promises. The sights and sounds were just as wonderfully a taboo treat for the senses, even as the black suits and dressed blended into an undulating mass of shifting shapes. Here she could hide and be free. Aislinn was gone, and a woman that could say, think, and be whatever she wanted took her place. Among slaves, Masters, submissive, Doms, pets, and Owners… she was free.

A passing waitress held out a silver tray and Aislinn… no, She… the other woman, lifted a glass of champagne to her lips. She savored the bite of alcohol and the tickle of the bubbles on her tongue before she swallowed. When the waitress offered Her a program, She waved it away, deciding instead to wander the club and see where her feet led her. There were plenty of exhibits to explore, and she read the name of each on little plaques as she passed them.

“In a Twisted World,” she read allowed to herself as she stopped at one such plaque. It seemed as fitting a place to start as any other.

The artist had taken the room, a good sized parlor within the mansion, and transformed it so completely that Brent did feel like he was entering a different world. It was dimly lit inside, muted purple and red lighting only in the corners and walls draped in black, and his vision was drawn first to the larger central installation that shone from bright yellow and orange spotlights. As was his trademark, the artist used ropes to create a twisting canopy of treelike structures, branches crossing and intertwining like a mid-winter forest bare of leaves. Brent's eyes adjusted to the lighting and the other parts of the exhibit came into view, each corner having a descending trunk of rope, the same as the larger central piece. Suspended at the bottom of each trunk, webbed in intricate ropes like a root ball, was a nude model. The branched canopy of the meshed trees dipped down to the ground and had been arranged to create a natural path. The branches forming walls of rope that guided the viewer in a meandering circuit of the room that ended at the center.

It felt like a stroll in the forest, but a dark and, of course, twisted one full of sex and yearning.

Brent regretted he hadn't been able to see the master at work earlier, this exhibit had taken the better part of the day to assemble with the models only going up an hour before the showing time. Unfortunately, his day had been busy and tonight he would only get to inspect the finished ropework and admire the knots, not see the process that yielded such stunning visuals.

The first installation, in the near corner, was bathed in dim red light from below. The rope was colored, a brownish red on the trunk that turned to fiery orange on the limbs, with strips of yellow accenting veins or knots of wood on the trunk. A single nude woman spun slowly beneath the tree, her pose was like a half-fetal position, with one arm wrapped around an opposing knee and her head curled down. The other leg splayed back, twisting up behind her, and her free arm was curled above and behind her head. Some subtle force moved her outstretched arm and leg, and caused her to spin slowly back and forth. Curious, Brent traced a thin, black rope that ran from her toe and fingers, up to ceiling and from there to the room center, where the artist himself stood. The man was pulling gently on a series of similar ropes in his hand, head swiveling around the room as he watched the models he manipulated.

The guests were mostly quiet at first, respectful and studying the art appreciatively. Of course, their eyes lingered on the model with voyeuristic delight. She had a beautiful body, pale flesh almost fully on display as the lattice of ropes that supported her was minimal. Her full breasts were partially obscured by her bent leg and her face was hidden completely, which provided enough anonymity that the crowd could stare unabashedly. This, close, you could see her chest rising with her breathing and notice subtle movements of her body as she adjusted in the ropes that held her. Conversations began slowly and discussions soon blossomed around the pose, the trees, and the range of emotions the stretched figure evoked. Brent listened quietly, studying the technique more than anything else, fascinated at how the artist had created subtle support areas to suspend the model for the multi-hour showing with minimal discomfort.

Out of the corner of Brent's eye, a figure appeared and was forced next to him by the milling crowd. Shifting slightly to accommodate the newcomer, he glanced over to give a friendly smile and saw at first only a fiery explosion of red hair, curled and stacked high and glowing in the red light of the exhibit. And below, a woman in an elegant black dress, accented with knots at her shoulders. Gray eyes flashed at him, strangely floating behind the simple, black mask she wore that covered her entire face. That mask glittered slightly, as it turned, the dim lighting catching a swirling pattern subtly worked on the cheeks. She was an interesting mix, understated in dress, but her hair demanded attention. The full mask hid her face completely, making her both emotionless and mysterious, but her eyes were bright and active.

Another elegant woman getting a kinky thrill tonight, Brent supposed as he glanced behind her to see who here companion might be. Surprisingly, she appeared to be alone. It wasn't that common for women to come to Rose & Thorn Club events without a date, but certainly it did happen.

He wasn't sure why he spoke, given that he really wanted to just enjoy the art tonight, but Brent suddenly found his mouth moving.

"Stunning. Are you a fan of his art as well?"

God, what a stupid line to open with you idiot.

She wasn't sure what she had expected, really, but it wasn't the vertible forest of ropes that she walked into. The intricate webs of ropes and knots broke up what should have been a large room with four walls into a twisted labyrinth to get lost in. Guests milled about whispering to each other. She paused here and there to admire the ropes, but also to listen. Some discussed the knot work, the type of rope used, or the color choices the same way they would admire an oil painting in a gallery. Others were more lecherous, their focus on the models and their artfully exposed bodies.

It all reinforced her curiosity: What was the model feeling as a display piece in someone else's work of art? The vulnerability in it was... terrifyingly intriguing.

The room began to fill slowly, and the press of shifting bodies slowly maneuvered her around the room until she found herself drawn toward the central piece. As she admired the rope work, realization struck her. The tree wasn't a tree.. or, maybe it was and she was seeing what she wanted to see. But, the red and blue ropes, and how they were wrapped... she couldn't help but see veins and arteries. In the center was the heart, and the model tied up beneath it.

'Macabre and beautiful,' she thought again, allowing herself to reach out and touch the ropes. They were soft, but drawn tight. Each rope was being pulled in multiple different directions by every other rope. She admired the effort and the creativity, but she wasn't sure she understood yet what the artist's story was. She meant to circle the exhibit again, wanting to approach each piece with the idea that they may not be what they seemed... but the growing audience was against her, and their movements pressed her back into a body that was firmer and broader than her own.

He shifted to give her room, and as she looked up to apologize, he gave her a friendly smile that was half hidden by a half-mask. The black made his eyes startlingly blue, but they seemed warm beneath his mask. Warm and yet... there was something in them that made her want to hold her breath.

"Stunning. Are you a fan of his art as well?" his voice had a tember to it that made her smile behind her mask.

"I don't know him," she admitted, her voice muffled by her mask, but clear, "but it is stunning. Turning veins and arteries into trees and then hanging beautiful women beneath what appear to be hearts of wood. I'm not certain yet what his meaning is, but I enjoy looking at his work."

She looked back up at him, some random question on her lips, but it vanished when she spotted the red badge on his lapel. Somehow, out of all the guests milling about, she had bumped into one of the instructors for the evening. Her observations were likely child-like in comparison to his understanding of the work.

"I think you may know a good deal more about this, than me, though," she admitted with a laugh. "I confess, I've never seen shibari before. It's much more intricate than I expected. Ropes and knots," she looked around again, taking in the room as a whole, and then sighed. "It's so much more than I thought it would be." Inexorably, her eyes were drawn back to the model in the center of the room. "I find myself wondering what she is thinking, though, more than anything else. What must it feel like to be her in this moment? What about you?" she asked as she looked back up to him.

Looking him in the eyes felt almost inappropriate - like they saw more than they should - and yet they seemed to have a way of captivating her attention. "What do you see?"

"Well, he is a bit niche, but shows like this may change the perception of Shibari. Everyone has a response to it, like good art should provoke. And he is a master, most definitely," replied Brent, glancing back again at the model in front of them. "As for meaning, well... let's see the rest. I can only speculate on what it means to me I suppose."

Then she noticed his badge and Brent decided right then that it was probably a good call to have worn it. She seemed a worthy target to lure into a deeper conversation.

"Oh this," Brent chuckled, glancing down at the badge, real embarrassment mixing with feigned. "I'm not sure how they decided I warranted an instructor badge, but I have been trying to learn Shibari for the last several years as a... hobby."

It sounded a little awkward to describe his Shibari interest in that fashion, like one might talk about collecting stamps or making model sailboats, but on the spot Brent couldn't think of another way to characterize it. Calling it a kink would likely feel even worse, but the fact that he tied up beautiful women, typically as foreplay for sex, was definitely half the fun. Well, hobby sounded less threatening than confessing a fetish to a mysterious woman, even while at a BDSM party. Despite his interests, he didn't consider himself a BDSM "guy" and never felt truly comfortable in the company of those that were very extroverted about their embrace of the lifestyle. Of course, he was naturally more private for work reasons, but sex and kinks in particular were still one of those personal areas that he would rather keep in his bedroom.

"Really? You've never seen Shibari before?" exclaimed Brent, even more intrigued now. He'd assumed a solo guest, particularly a woman, would be an enthusiast and had experienced exhibits or even tried Shibari before. It was a bit more interesting suddenly to talk to someone that was discovering the artform for the first time. Her perspective would be refreshing. "It takes years to master, the knots, the rope work, and the artistry. I'm very much a beginner in the scale of the masters exhibiting tonight."

Brent listened to her words and tried to look at the exhibit with open eyes, beyond the technical side which had been his focus. He tried to get into the mind of the model, for the model was the human element of Shibari that made it so dynamic and compelling. And her natural perspective, obviously, was thinking about what it would be like to be that person so artfully bound. What would the model feel when his ropes tightened, or his fingers worked knots by her inner thighs? How would she feel suspended, or with her limbs forced askew? How would she feel with someone looking at her? Helpless and unable to move to avoid their gaze, wherever it might go? And what if it was a room of people looking at you?

A surge of emotion suddenly flooded Brent's mind and body. There was the familiar feeling of prurient fantasizing about how this mysterious woman would enjoy being tied in his knots, especially since she seemed to dwell on that perspective. That feeling he understood, he'd had it before, but he fought another strong urge to try Shibari with a different approach. He couldn't quite verbalize it, but maybe attempting to be more focused on the model herself? Trying to express her personality in his work rather than merely showing off his knots and making something generically pretty?

"What do I think? Well, I now believe I may have been thinking about Shibari completely wrong," Brent said, eyes focusing on the mysterious redhead as he pulled himself back from his thoughts. "What you just said, wondering what the model is feeling, it made me realize I think too much from the artist's perspective only. The pose, the design, what knots I might use, of course is the woman enjoying it... But you are absolutely right, Shibari is about the interplay of an artist and a living subject. The art is in tension between the two, the ropes and design should manifest that and encompass both their personalities. You've made me want to rethink how I would even approach Shibari with a partner. It makes me--"

Brent's voice had grown more excited as he spoke, thoughts spilling out as he couldn't contain his enthusiasm about an idea that was clearly making him almost giddy. He caught himself at the end and gave her a wry smile.

"My apologies, I'm getting carried away and this is likely boring. I'm Brent, by the way," he said, offering his hand. "I'd love to continue our conversation and escort you through the rest of this exhibit. Your perspective is delightful, and I promise I won't bore you with Shibari artistic analysis, unless you ask for it."

“Aren’t we all a bit ‘niche’?” she teased him, but agreeably followed his suggestion to view the rest of the exhibit by allowing him to maneuver her through the ever-shifting guests around them. There was a mystique about him that was magnetic, but the illusion faltered a little when he seemed to blush beneath his mask. It was charming, and it made her smile behind the safety of her own mask.

“A hobby, is it?” she asked as they paused at pair of models intricately laced together in what appeared to be a loving embrace. It took her a moment to realize that it was a man and a woman tied together with the way the body of each protected the modesty of the other and the ropes hid their faces from view.

His surprise that she had never seen shibari before made her cheeks warm beneath the confines of her mask. He didn’t seem perturbed by that fact, however. Instead, he began to explain the knots, the rope work, the planning, and care involved, and his affection for his craft began to show. She decided she understood why the Rose and Thorn had decided to label him as an instructor. He may not be the most well practiced artist in the room, but his attention to detail and true love from the art meant he respected the artform enough to be trusted above a simple hobbyist.

He caught himself, however - just as his excitement began to spill over - and offered her a wry smile in form of apology. It wasn’t simply listening to her, he was taking to heart what she said. It felt… strange, to have a anyone really listen to her thoughts as if they were worth something. Mallory indulged her, her so-called friends spied on her for her father, her mother had never really been more than the political power-play they meant to use Aislinn herself for now. She was the unwanted first daughter that was set to inherit what everyone else said should go to her younger brother instead.

'Don’t think about it,' she told herself, pushing it all out of her mind. She came to enjoy one last night of freedom, not wallow in what waited for her when she went home.

“No, don’t apologize,” she said as she took the hand he offered. Lacing her fingers between his, she stepped closer against his side as she tucked their clasped hands at the small of her back to wrap his arm around her. She sensed more than felt the warmth of his body through their clothes, but the distraction of it was a delight she didn’t feel like denying herself. “I like your enthusiasm, it’s infectious. And it’s nice to think I have something worthwhile to add to the conversation,” she added with an honest laugh.

“And I’m…” she hesitated, whose name should she steal for the night?

“Rose,” she settled on the name of a childhood friend. “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Brent.”

They began to stroll again, and if she was honest, she wasn’t really paying attention to the exhibit as much as she had been before. The strong body she was tucked up against was becoming much more interesting. He moved with a confidence most men lacked, even when it came to men of the underbelly of the world. Most blustered, strutted like peacocks, each of them measuring their power and wealth by who could get more of the plate of the other. This man walked like he already owned the world, and nothing and no one in it could touch him unless he wanted it.

“I don’t think you are going to bore me,” she assured him, realizing she was following wherever he decided to lead her. “I came to,” do whatever I want to do, “to learn something new. If I get to learn from someone who enjoys the artform as much as you do, then I count myself as lucky.”

She took his hand and actually seemed to have not minded Brent's rambling speech on Shibari theory. He'd thought he'd blown the whole conversation with that awful pseudo-intellectual drivel, but instead she'd seemed to have found what he said, or at least his enthusiasm on the subject, interesting enough to let him escort her through the exhibit. He had been truthful, her perspective had been what had set him off, and Brent was eager to get more of her thoughts.

"Rose?" Brent repeated, noting her hesitation. It was clearly fake, that much he could tell. The full mask was annoying, hiding her emotions with a flat, expressionless face that made it difficult to guess her true feelings. Only flashes of her eyes, occasional fluttering blinks, and her tone of voice gave Brent hints of her mind, but the overall effect was to make him even more curious about who she was and what she truly thought of him. He nodded as they began to walk. "Beautiful, fragrant... but thorny."

The crowd forced her against him and Brent enjoyed the thrill of her body pressing against his at times, perhaps more often than needed. Her hand was warm in his and he held it lightly, their palms and fingers brushing against each other softly with every step.

"Trapped together, maybe in love and happy? No, it looks sad to me, like they wish they could be free, but the world has bound them in," Brent commented on the couple posed together before they moved onward, to the third installment in the exhibit. This model was tied a bit more explicitly, more like the kind of bondage pose you might expect at a BDSM event. She was blindfolded and her nude body was turned to face the crowd, legs spread apart, although the webbed ropes hid her crotch and formed a girdle around her torso. Her breasts were tied and forced out, squeezed in a manner that Brent knew wasn't as painful as it looked. The model's expression was neutral, but a hint of a small smile was visible on the corners of her mouth. "And this, well, the knotwork is incredible. But I do wonder, as you pointed out, how she feels? I'd say helpless, powerless, and utterly controlled. Yet she isn't unhappy. She may like being snared in the ropes of someone more powerful, being the object of so much attention."

Brent's mind wandered now, his own work intruding onto the moment. He was skilled at his job, but it never left him unfortunately. His eyes were always scanning, looking at the crowd and trying to find threats, and now he knew with certainty that there was a man that had been watching them. He had been following at a careful distance, just another anonymous masked man in a tuxedo. He stood out in flow of the crowd, too obviously pacing himself to stay a certain distance away. Right now he was pretending to study the models they had just left, but the glances he sent towards them were not well hidden. An amateur, or maybe someone so confident they didn't care that they might be spotted?

Was he after Brent? Or someone that might be a threat to Rose? Or, and this thought was one Brent didn't want to believe, was he working with Rose? Was it a bit too unlikely that this beguiling woman had appeared and seemingly was so interested in him? She would be an incredible actress if so, but then again, the mask made it difficult to truly read her.

"And why are you here?" asked Brent as he turned and faced the redhead. He'd positioned them so he could watch the man over her shoulder. He held her hand still, but his body was suddenly tense and ready, like a coiled spring. His voice was also wary now, not rude, but clear and precise. "I don't mean to be forward, but a woman alone at a Rose & Thorn event usually has an agenda. Are you looking to explore an interest? To meet someone? Or just a voyeur?"

A pause to see her reaction and then his real question.

"And... why would a man be following us? Don't look now, but he is over your right shoulder, about thirty feet away."

When he repeated her name, she heard the question in it. He knew it wasn't her name, but he seemed to let the question go when she wasn't inclined to answer it. He instead turned his attention to the display pieces around them.

"Sad?" she gave the couple a closer look. At first glance, she thought it looked romantic, but as she examined the pair, she could see where he was coming from. Was it a loving embrace, or where they embracing each other because that was the only choice they had? The parallel to her own world was... a little too vivid. "Maybe they are all they have. No so much that they are forced together, just... they have no one else to turn to." Even with the full mask, she worked to keep her face neutral. It was a natural self-defence mechanism to hide her true feelings.

Someone bumped into her side, and she pressed closer against Brent's side. His strength was comforting, and the source of an unusual sense of safety that was settling over her. It should have been strange to feel so comfortable with a stranger. Hell, if she was honest with herself, it was likely incredibly stupid. She wasn't about to ruin it, though.

The next display was strangely shocking against the rest. Somehow it had all seemed chaste and modest before. This one felt... raw, natural, and somehow like an invasion of privacy as you looked. Sort of like seeing something you knew you weren't supposed to see. Brent's thoughts on the display made her chuckle, but she gave him an apologetic look when his attention swung back to her.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you," she promised before looking back at the woman before them. "I was laughing at the different things a single work can make people feel. You see her as trapped, helpless, vulnerable to your gaze, your hands... she can't stop you from doing anything you would want to do, this is true. But, I don't see it that way. I don't think she does, either. She isn't unhappy, because she isn't afraid. She's free. You may think she's vulnerable to your every whim, but she knows the truth."

Her eyes were bright with something wild when she looked up to him again, their silver depths somehow brightened by whatever was going on behind the mask she wore. "The fact is, she exposes you and your desires far more than she herself is exposed to you."

Beneath her mask, her smile faded slowly. He was watching her closely, with more intensity than before. He was looking for something, and the hairs on the back of her neck went up. A thousand questions and possibilities went through her mind and she held her breath. Did someone figure out what she was up to? Had he been sent to bring her home? Was he from her fiance's family? Did they know she was against the match? They hadn't even seen each other yet, could anyone really know who she was and what she was doing here?

"And why are you here?" he asked in a tone very different from what he'd spoken in so far. He turned to fully face her, and Aislinn's heart skipped a beat.

Shit, shit, shit!

"I already told you," she answered, as crisply and cleanly as she could. Thank god, her voice remained strong and confident, even while she felt anything but strong or confidant.

"I don't mean to be forward, but a woman alone at a Rose & Thorn event usually has an agenda. Are you looking to explore an interest? To meet someone? Or just a voyeur?"

Beneath her mask, Aislinn flushed darkly. She wasn't entirely sure what she meant to do. She definitely had an agenda, which was little more than a childish rebellion against things she couldn't change and had no control over. He was watching her too closely, and she forced herself to breath.

"I told you," she repeated, "I came to learn about the artform. I hadn't really considered much beyond that." Okay that was true. She hadn't really entertained the idea of maybe trying out being in those ropes until now. She was going to ask him if he was playing some kind of good cop, bad cop routine here when his next question made things a little more clear.

"And... why would a man be following us? Don't look now, but he is over your right shoulder, about thirty feet away."

Aislinn almost laughed, but she cleared her throat to kill it before it came out.

"Is he dark haired, mid forties, and sweat profusely despite being fit for his age? Oh, and drinking a lot." She inquired, fairly confident she knew who was following them. "If so, than he is the worried Rose and Thorn member I talked into bringing me along so that I could be here tonight. If not, well..." her voice trailed off as she weighed her options. She wondered if she should be suspicious about how observant he seemed to be. She hadn't noticed Mallory, but she hadn't been looking. There were plenty of people following them around the room, how... why... had he been looking for someone among them that was actually purposefully following them?

"If not, any of those, then I don't know him, and I don't know why he'd be following us," she finished. It was mostly true. While she had theories on who it could be and why they might be following her, she didn't really know for sure without looking to see who it was and if she knew them or not.

"What about you?" she turned the tables with a playful tone. "Is there a reason someone would be following you, perhaps? An ardent fan, perhaps? Ah, or the jilted lover of some girl you have tied up somewhere dark and foreboding?"

'Okay, is it really wise to be teasing this man?' she wondered at her own behavior. His mouth was a firm, unrelenting line, and his eyes were positively predatory, but she couldn't seem to resist poking the angry wolf with a stick. After all, in a room full of people, what exactly was he going to do about it, anyway?

Brent was a little embarassed when she chuckled at his comments, was he sounding pretentious again? Her perspective struck home though, as it had earlier, and he realized he had been projecting his own desires on the model. Enjoying bondage while under his control, yes that was a cliché fantasy he supposed. Rose, or whatever her name truly was, had a different view entirely and it was eye opening.

"Free, while being tied up. Free of making choices I suppose," Brent answered, studying the model as he thought about Rose's words. Did the model's smile curve up a slight bit more? Had she heard their conversation? He grinned and squeezed Rose's hand, shaking his head as if trying to clear it of his prior viewpoint. His blue eyes locked on the grey ones floating behind the mask, a little bit of flirtation now in his voice. "You are right. I see my fantasy, a beautiful woman tied up and enjoying it. I'm curious, what desire of yours do you see?"

It had been difficult to abruptly shift from flirting about their kinky desires to questioning her, but the chemistry Brent was feeling with her made it critical to find out what was going on. If he was being played, he had to know now. When he heard her answers, Brent gave an audible sigh of relief and his body relaxed slightly. She wasn't lying, or trying to deceive him. Even with the mask on he could sense her response was authentic, embarrassed at having to admit she was here out of curiosity. And of course, a desire to maybe be a little wild tonight.

"He does appear a bit nervous. And he definitely appears to need a new drink as he is trying to sip melting ice at this point," Brent replied, a friendly smile now reappearing on his face. "I think he may have a panic attack any moment actually. Us stopping seems to be really upsetting him. So he took you here, but you aren't with him, right?"

Brent was getting a sense of her now, just by filling in the missing and unsaid pieces. The nervous member following her and her carefully guarded responses made him think she was someone cutting out for the night. Perhaps the member shouldn't have brought her and was worried about repercussions from her family, or his work? He clearly felt like his role was to babysit her out of view, not show her the ropes himself. She was important, someone the member couldn't let come to any harm, but she was able to get people to do what she wanted despite her value. At the same time, she had some ropes already tying her down and letting her not be free. Was it her family? Her work? Maybe a husband or boyfriend that was over-controlling? His eyes glanced at her hand. She had no ring, or any mark on her finger showing one might normally rest there, so likely not a husband.

"I tend to be a careful person. It's a good trait to have," Brent answered as Rose turned the tables on him. She was sharp and could read a person well, definitely not a gullible, innocent girl to be swept off her feet at a kinky BDSM event. There was the implicit question behind her jokes, why the fuck would he be able spot a tail at a masquerade party in a crowded room, and while flirting with her? She was used to dealing with people who had enemies and realized what an abnormal skill this was to have for a "normal" person. Brent tried to deflect, unable to think of an excuse. "Well, I have a couple parking tickets I still need to pay... It was just luck that I saw him, really. He is just so bad at trying to follow you that he stuck out. Let's hope he really doesn't need to be your babysitter tonight, because he isn't very good."

Brent slipped his arm around her waist casually, pulling her tight and leading her at faster pace towards the remaining pieces in the exhibit. Parting the crowd with his free hand, he leaned down and whispered to her conspiratorially, "Do you want him to follow you all night? Or can I help make sure your night out is yours alone? This is my night out as well, long overdue, and the one thing I hate is being watched."

"He does appear a bit nervous. And he definitely appears to need a new drink as he is trying to sip melting ice at this point. I think he may have a panic attack any moment actually. Us stopping seems to be really upsetting him. So he took you here, but you aren't with him, right?"

Her tensions eased, and Aislinn allowed herself to let out a slow breath. It was just Mallory, nothing to worry about.

"I'm with him," she acknowledged, "technically, according to the Rose and Thorn's books. But, I am not with him, no."

His voice relaxed, right along with the way the sharpness left his eyes and the smile softened the hard line of his mouth. It was like two different men hid behind the same mask. One was charming, endearing, comfortable even. He drew her in easily, made her feel safe and respected. The other seemed like a combination of precision and violence on a tight string. In the back of her mind were a million warning flags, and some little part of her shouted that his explanation was too easy, too flippant, and filled with holes.

But, she didn't listen, she didn't want to listen, and that little voice cried out in frustration as his arm slipped around her waist and drew her in close. Her heart tumbled over itself in her throat, and then they were moving, faster than before, with a purpose. His free hand moved people effortlessly, something Aislinn had seen before. She glanced at him as he spoke, and she could see the focus in him beneath the playful, flirtation spirit that had come back to him. Private security, or a security contractor maybe? It would make sense, and she latched onto the idea.

He offered to help her make this night hers alone, and it tugged painfully at a heart string she didn't know existed. While her mind warned caution, her heart cried out for what he offered her. He gave her time to answer, but seconds were ticking by fast, he wouldn't wait forever.

"Alright," she agreed, keeping her eyes forward. She was too excited to look him in the eye. She felt like a teenager again, sneaking out to play with the boys, all nervous excitement and overwhelming hormones. "As long as you share it with me." She'd sounded a little breathless to even her own ears. Aislinn hoped Brent attributed it to the quickness of their pace. "You lead, I'll follow."

And she did. If his arm tightened, she moved closer. If he pressed against her, she shifted sideways. He made it easy to keep pace, and gave her clear commands of when to move. It felt almost like a dance, one they both somehow knew the steps to. She didn't really pay attention to where they were going, or who they passed. Her world had focused down to herself and Brent, and eventually - when he drew her into a closed room - she realized they were , in fact, alone.

Her eyes finally came up to his, and she felt her cheeks warm at what she saw in them. Tension grew tight in the air, and she understood that she was not the only one having a few impure thoughts.

"I think that's a lie, by the way." she teased to break the tension. She was catching her breath, letting her heart slow down, trying to regather herself... but she also enjoyed the feel of his strong arm wrapped around her and holding close against him. It made her skin tingle and burn where they touched, the clothes between them a pitiful shield against the effect he was having on her, and she was loathed to give it up.

"I think you'd like being watched," saying something, anything, seemed to clear her head. And the questioning look her gave her made her laugh, further relaxing her. "If it was the right person watching, I mean."

It was a huge relief when Rose said she wasn't with the member that was stalking them. Brent did not want to deal with the drama of a jilted lover, of course it was a bit presumptuous on his part that there might be something happening tonight that could cause jealousy. The way she said it, though, dismissing the idea so precisely, made Brent think that she also wanted to let him know she was free of any entanglements, at least tonight.

"Our night then," replied Brent to her request before he pulled her off into the crowd.

It was fun sneaking her out of the room. Brent parted the crowd and moved through gaps expertly, not even bothering to look back to track their pursuer. If Mallory knew they were trying to lose him, he'd fight even harder to keep up. All Brent wanted was a nice solid lead until they exited the exhibit, then he pulled the eager girl next to him into a trot and turned a corner quickly. He was used to this kind of work, but with much higher stakes. It was nice to evade pursuit as a prank and without his life on the line. Still, his pulse quickened and adrenaline filled his body. Was it because of the chase, or the fact he was sneaking off with this mysterious and beautiful girl pressed to his side?

Outside, the hallways were less crowded and people parted easily for what appeared to be an eager couple looking for a quiet spot. Brent had memorized the map earlier, another old habit, and led them quickly through the hallways of the former mansion to one of the rooms designated for instruction. A beautifully appointed study with dark wood walls, the room had been cleared of its normal furniture and instead was filled with leather sofas that focused on the center of the room. There was a table with an assortment of BDSM accessories that would make a hardened Master blush. Coiled ropes, shackles, cuffs, pads, gags, floggers, crops, and blindfolds lay on the wooden surface, organized meticulously and ready for use. Next to the table was a metal cage like structure, four poles and a roof made of metal bars, designed to enable suspension bondage. The floor under and around the cage was a nice padded carpet, thoughtfully provided for the comfort of anyone that might be lying or kneeling upon it. The room was technically open to the public but for use only by instructors. Brent locked it behind them to prevent an audience.

In the hurried flight, Rose hadn't gotten a chance to fully look at the equipment in the room and her back was to it now as she turned to tease Brent. They were both breathing a little hard and she'd spun from his side to speak with him and was now pressed against his front, Brent's arm still curled around her hip.

"I sometimes like being watched," Brent agreed, grinning as he brought his other arm up to her lower back to make his hold a complete embrace. "But I have to really trust the person."

He could feel the heat of her body through her dress as they brushed against each other, his arms holding her lightly as he tipped his face down towards her masked one. Her explosion of red curls blossomed in his vision and that emotionless mask frustrated him beneath, revealing only her bright eyes that now seemed to twinkle with mischief. She seemed so full of energy and warmth in his arms, like a burning ember heating his body and mind, threatening to consume him.

"You never answered my question earlier, about what desires those scenes brought up in you? So tell me, what kind of desires do you have?"

His admission that he would indeed enjoy being watched by the right person startled her so much that she laughed. As she did, Brent's other arm snaked around her waist. It felt somehow very natural - as he drew her in - to allow her arms to settled against his chest. She was wrapped up in the warmth and smell of him - aftershave and a hint of champagne on his breath. His head tipped down toward her, and if it hadn't been for her mask they may have...The moment passed, and she smiled beneath her mask. What had he been saying?

"You're right," she agreed, her eyes focused on his as she spoke. They were warm, inviting, and hungry. "Trust is the crux of it all." And didn't that make her a fool? Here she stood in the arms of a stranger, putting her trust in his hands more than once already. The sheer level of her rashness over the last few minutes alone should make her feel ashamed.

Should, but didn't.

Risk was inherently part of her world, what was a little bit more? Pressed this tightly against him, she was rather certain the man wasn't armed, and why should he be any more dangerous to her than she was to him? - Actually, that thought almost made her laugh again. If anyone that mattered found out anything about this little interlude they were having... yes, she was far more dangerous to him than he was to her.

Brent's following question broke Aislinn's train of thought and brought her back to him. While he waited for an answer, she realized that he was right, she had never actually answered his question. "What kind of desires do I have?" she mused out loud.

He allowed her time to think, but somehow it didn't ease the feeling of being rushed to come up with an answer. It was in the urgency in the way he held her. It wasn't that he was clinging or crushing her to him, but that he felt drawn tight - like a bow string ready to loose an arrow at any moment. Or a trap ready to spring. Or a wolf to pounce. He saw what he wanted: a woman under his control. But, so did Aislinn when she saw a woman set free. The irony of it didn't allude her at all. But, how could she possibly explain it to him?

"Until now, I didn't realize how difficult that question would be to answer," she complained, her embarrassment bleeding through on her voice. It wasn't just something she had never been asked before, it was something she hadn't yet fully answered for herself. "You've heard a taste of it, I suppose. But, it's hard to explain seeing freedom in the image of a woman who is clearly anything but free and entirely at the mercy of someone else..." her voice trailed off as she spoke, and Aislinn smiled beneath her mask. She had to drop her eyes as well, feeling suddenly too exposed. She was already a woman bound by the will of someone else, how was being tied in physical restraints going to make it different or better?

"I don't think I fully know what my desires are," she answered again, this time with a sense of clarity. "The one thing I do know, right this very moment, is that I trust this stranger, named Brent... likely a lot more than any sensible woman should after just a few minutes." Her eyes came back up, hesitant to meet his gaze, but trapped by its intensity once she had. He was too close. She couldn't breath, her skin was too warm, and her heart beat too quickly.

Beneath her dress she felt her body responding, the smooth fabric becoming a torment against her nipples as they hardened into taunt, sensitive buds. The warmth of a blush carried from her cheeks and down her neck, and Aislinn gently pulled herself out of Brent's arms in an effort to catch her breath again. As she turned away, her eyes landed for the first time on the center of the room.

The cage-like structure caught her attention first, and she froze, surprised she hadn't noticed it sooner. As her gaze traveled over the nearby table and its assortment of ropes, gags, floggers -and few things she didn't even recognize - she felt Brent come close behind her. Aislinn could almost feel him holding his breath - or was she holding hers? - as he waited. He didn't reach out, or speak, but let her take in what was before her.

Breathe, she commanded herself, and she sucked in a slow breath of air, held it a few seconds, and then let it out. In that short span of time, she made a choice, and her hands rose to the small knots of fabric sitting on her shoulders. It took only a little push before they slipped off her shoulders, and her dress slid to the floor in a puddle of soft, black fabric. Just breathe.

She stood still for a second before she could work up the courage to glance back over her shoulder at him. His eyes were still warm and hungry, but now they were devouring her. She felt the path they traveled down her neck and over her shoulders, and then sliding down her back to the black, lace thong - that felt somehow much more revealing than it had before - and finally down her long legs to the heels she wore.

"If you're open to it," she spoke up in a small voice when she couldn't stand the silence anymore. "I think I can trust you to help me figure it out. With just one stipulation that absolutely must be accepted." She paused, held her breath, waited for those eyes that saw through her defences to meet her own gaze again before she finished, "the mask must stay on."

Waiting for Rose to answer filled Brent with conflicting emotions, a strange mix of impatience to hear what kinks she might share and contentment from not wanting the moment to end. She felt so good in his arms, her body pressing against him now willingly. Yet despite yielding to his embrace, she still radiated that energy and independence that made her feel so warm and alive. Had she just subtly frisked him? Her hands had moved against him as he held her, sliding to his lower back and passing the likely spots where a gun or harness might be along the way. Good thing she hadn't checked his lower leg.

Interesting. Who was she?

Her words when she finally spoke thrilled Brent. He believed her. She was just a woman who had cravings, either too embarrassing or still too unformed to share. But, she somehow trusted him to help her discover them with her, despite the grilling he'd put her through and the fact she'd just met him. And she definitely wanted to explore these desires tonight. What was her rush, what event loomed ahead for her?

Then she pulled away and for a second Brent was worried the magic moment had ended. Had she come to her senses and realized he was a stranger? Even the instructor badge on his tuxedo might not be enough to warrant the trust she would need to do something like shibari for the first time. The equipment in the room likely didn't help, overkill for a neophyte when all Brent would need would be a soft rope, some candles, and a comfortable bed to give Rose an experience she wouldn't forget. It was awkward as he looked at that collection of what could be medieval torturer's tools to imagine what her inexperienced eyes might see.

It was all a mistake. Brent opened his mouth to speak, to try to alleviate the concerns that he imagined were filling her mind, but he held off and let her study the equipment in silence. What could he say now that would sway her anyway? She'd seen the worst, and would either want to go forward to explore bondage with him, or demand to leave. The choice was hers.

Then she took off her dress.

Now Brent was truly speechless as her pale skin was revealed. The dress dropped with a slight whoosh and he felt his cock harden as he studied her curves for the first time. She was no waif model, delicate and fragile. Rather she was athletic, with a curvy and powerful body that hinted she was capable of defending herself. And god her ass, split by that black lace thong, was round and full and his gaze wound up lingering on it far too long. She was beautiful and his pulse began to quicken as more carnal desires began fanning the fire building in his loins. What he would like to do with her...

"Of course, Rose," Brent answered, dragging his eyes back up to meet her masked gaze and pushing down his lust to focus on being a teacher tonight. Keeping the mask on was a blow, he had been dying to see her face finally, but at this point he would accept whatever terms she laid out. She wanted her anonymity above all and again he wondered, who was she? "Whatever you are comfortable with, I will honor. My mask will stay on as well, though. This will be about you... I'm just honored to show you for the first time something that I truly love. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Now, let me look at you."

Brent began began to silently circle her while he began to partially undress himself. He studied her body as he walked like an artist would inspect a masterful sculpture. The jacket came off first, tossed to a couch. The black tie was unraveled with a sharp tug and left to hang loosely as his collar was unbuttoned. Then cufflinks were removed and his sleeves rolled up carefully to his elbows. He was ready for work now and his muscled and lean body was more visible with just the white shirt hugging his frame. He had never done this before, truly study the model for artistic reasons and his mind was spinning with ideas of how to tie her. He needed to understand her to do this right, both her physical lines, but also her personality. Even her body language as she stood before his inspecting eyes was important. How would he tie her to match who she truly was, or appeared to be? What would be the best way to make her feel what he though she might yearn for... she called it freedom, while under his control?

"We need a safe word, something you can say if you are ever uncomfortable so I can stop and put you at ease," Brent said as he ended his circular walk behind her again. This time he was close, his mouth right by her ear and he kept his voice soft, but firm as he gave her his first command. A hand moved to rest on the small of her back, guiding her to face the wooden table. "Now... place your hands on the table."

She thought she heard something like disappointment in his voice at his response, but he hid it well. His agreement to her stipulation let Aislinn breathe a little easier. If she was reading him correctly, he took this world and his art very seriously, his word would be his bond. She felt herself smile when he said he’d be keeping his mask as well, and then she understood the disappointment she thought she had heard in him. Aislinn wondered - If she saw him again - would she know his eyes by the way they changed between warm and predatory, or his lips by how they smiled? The thoughts struck a sad chord. The fact of the matter was, if even she knew his face as well as her own, she could never see him again after this night.

The mood in the room had shifted. It had begun with a playful, flirtatious tension, but now the air was charged with a seriousness that was emanating from Brent. She hadn’t planned on doing something so foolhardy as to put herself into the hands of stranger like this, but… if she was going to do this, she had the sense that the best man for the job had almost literally fallen into her arms. Everything about him, how he moved, how he spoke… it had all changed as quickly as a bright room goes dark when you flip off the light switch.

She watched him warily, surprised by how much she felt like some helpless field mouse staring into the eyes of the fox that was about to eat her alive. Aislinn felt more exposed and vulnerable under Brent’s scrutiny than she could ever remember feeling before. He saw everything there was to see. If she fidgeted his eyes caught the motion. A shift of her weight from one foot to the other, and he knew about it. She felt his gaze find every freckle or old scar, each curve, dip, or hollow of her form, and every tightening muscle down to the goosebumps raising on her arms. It was mesmerizing to watch him watching her.

As he began to undress, the effect only seemed to intensify. As his jacket came off and was thrown onto a couch his eyes never left her. His focus seemed to deepen, and yet Aislinn found herself distracted by the tight play of his dress shirt across his chest and shoulders as he moved. Brent paused as he gave his tie a tug and unbuttoned his collar, his eyes lingering on the tattoo on her left leg. He studied the delicate swirls where a few words from different languages were scrawled - along with a new phrase, a fresh addition and still a little brighter than the rest that read: Progress not Perfection. – while she marveled at how those few changes to his wardrobe had made this moment so much more intimate. Then, as he began to roll up his sleeves, his circling took him back around behind her where she couldn’t see him anymore. With her dress out of the way and the initial surprise of her undressing passed, he found her second tattoo, a little goldfish, swimming right next to her shoulder blade.

“A safe word,” she repeated, and then secretly cringed at the sound of her own voice. Did she have to sound so damn breathlessly affected? Of course, no one could miss the fact that he had an effect just by looking at her, but she didn’t have to sound like it, too. Of course, if his lips weren’t so close to her ear and her neck… Aislinn made herself take a deep breath, trying to ignore the way her skin warmed and tingled. She wanted to tilt her head to the side, but if it was an invitation or an escape, she wasn’t all together certain. She shivered as his hand rested on the small of her back, but it wasn’t that his hand was cold, it was small release of all the anticipation and tension that had built between them that filtered through the small contact. Gentle pressure nudged her forward, and Aislinn walked up the wooden table.

Wait, she was supposed to be thinking of a safe word, wasn’t she? She was working it over in her head, but then his voice changed again. There was a firmness about it, a precision that demanded response, and yet it was just gentle enough that the command didn’t raise her hackles. She did hesitate, thoughts spinning through her mind faster than she could keep up with them all, and then she reached out and placed her hands on the table. The way her breasts swung slightly as she bent forward made her blush despite herself.

The willful spirit that had guided her up until this moment was strangely quiet, almost as if it was waiting to see what happened next. Every day was a battle, and that willful, stubborn, and determined part of herself is what got her through. Here, however, it was quieted, and Aislinn had no idea how to approach the world in general without it. And yet she felt safer than in… any other moment she could remember.

“Stop,” she spoke up, her voice sharper than she meant for it to be, and then smiled to herself at the sudden tension in the man behind her. “The safe word. Easy to remember and easy to say.” Okay, she was thinking again, breathing normally, and a sense of calm was replacing the uncertain anticipation. This was something she was familiar with, something she knew. Safe words, she’d studied the lingo, and how to apply the practice, and it gave her something to focus on to clear her head. “If I need a moment to pause, I’ll say your name. If I feel overwhelmed, I’ll say stop.”

He was still standing just outside of where she could see him, but she felt his presence. Not just the hand that rested gently against her lower back, but something more. There was more to this man – and not just the fact that she didn’t know him – that was simmering just beneath the service. Instinct said it had something to do with whatever she kept seeing hiding behind his eyes, or heard somewhere in his voice. Something more that she simply couldn’t put her fingers on, and yet ticked ever internal alarm she had.

Brent could tell she was new to this, not just to shibari and kinky bondage play, but submission as a role. She'd offered herself to him in spectacular fashion by dropping her dress, but she didn't really know what she was was getting herself into tonight. He could see it in her body, an open book to her emotions now. Wary tension rippled through her muscles as she followed his slow orbit of her nearly naked figure. She was too proud to hide herself from his intense gaze, but she didn't like being inspected so intimately and couldn't mask it. How quickly she forgot that she had given him this permission and now she chafed under the silent power of his gaze. Her mask and fake name hinted that she liked her secrets, but here in the well lit room her body at least was fully exposed and it made her uncomfortable.

She seemed twisted by conflicting emotions. Uncomfortable, but trusting. Wary, but eager. Nervous, but full of confidence. Submissive? No, definitely not submissive at all yet. But... curious.

Did she know how fucking sexy she was to a man like Brent? He doubted it.

Perhaps more "hardcore" doms or lifestyle masters might think her a waste of time, not a true submissive who they could push to their limits and train easily. Brent wasn't like that, shibari was a hobby and being in control a kink, but he liked his women more balanced. Ones who liked to play with him and enjoyed being kinky for both their pleasures, but were also full of confidence, willfulness, and strength. Submission was something his partners did for him as a favor, not a fundamental part of their personality. And a woman like Rose, clearly strong willed but craving to explore a kink at the opposite end of their personality, was like having a fantasy drop out of the sky and land in his lap.

That hesitation before she complied with his simple command to place her hands on the table was delicious. She battled every natural instinct in her body to obey what was undeniably an order. Her skin felt electric under his palm, as if all her mental conflict and swirling emotions were sparking out to him in that flesh to flesh contact.

"Stop."

The tone of voice more than the word froze Brent, his hand stiffening for a second on her lower back. Dammit, she had fooled him and she knew it. He could see her already relaxing, her breathing coming easier now as she spoke with humor and confidence again. The tension that had heightened since he had touched her back now melted from her body.

"If I were a stickler, I'd tell you that 'stop' is the worst safe word. People love to yell it during sessions you know, to make things seem more... real," chuckled Brent. The hand on her back gave her a friendly rub now as he let the spell of the first interaction dissipate. They had both felt it, that tense and erotic battle of wills as their egos had silently clashed. He knew from experience it would come back, but the important thing was not having Rose freak out and leave before any real fun could start. He had to be a teacher tonight, not a horny guy indulging a fetish and scaring this mysterious beauty away forever. That meant taking safe words seriously and making sure the rules were clear to her so she would trust him later. "I don't expect we'd get to the point where you'd want to scream stop at me and not mean it, but if you think you might... you can always pick something a bit more unusual."

"Now if you are ready, I'm going start slow," said Brent, moving to stand by her side. He gathered a coil of rope from the table and began to work a knot on one of her wrists, fingers moving quickly and expertly. Once finished, he grabbed the looped end and pulled her wrist off the table and up, all the way behind her neck, and held it there. "This is a single column tie. It's the basic knot we use almost everywhere, primarily because it won't collapse and squeeze a limb or body part. So you could be hung by this for instance."

Brent moved behind her, his pants brushing against her rear as he reached around and pulled her other wrist up to join the one he held. In seconds, both were tied together behind her neck, her elbows out and shoulders pulled back slightly so her breasts jutted forward.

"There, and just like that and you are already my captive," whispered Brent in her ear. After a second he added a soft chuckle to make it sound like a joke, but he carefully watched to see her initial reaction to the idea. Casually he added, "If you try the knot, you'll find it impossible to slip out of. It's a very strong restraint, one of the best for tying people up."

He stood behind her quietly, letting her test the knot and get used to the feeling of restraint. His hands released her wrists, leaving them behind her neck, and slid down her sleek sides to rest on her hips. Thumbs teasing her lower back, playing with the string of her thong, he murmured in her ear again with his lips almost touching her earlobe this time.

"So, how does it feel? Are you ready for more? And if so, how intense do you want me to go?"

“Well then, I’m glad you’re not a stickler,” Aislinn spoke ruefully as Brent’s laughter soothed her more deeply than she had an explanation for. It was honest and came to him easily, even if it did sound something more like a devious chuckle that was loaded with sinful promises. It combined with the soothing movement of his hand against her skin and seemed to leach the nervous tension right out of her bones. Then suddenly, she was standing on a wire in a delicate balancing act. If she breathed too deeply, she felt she’d fall into a dreamy relaxation. But, if she held her breath just a moment too long, she’d tip the other way and fall right back into the intoxication of nervous anticipation. And it was Brent that held her there, poised on the edge, and it was this stranger that held the ultimate power of which way she fell.

The realization hit her with the clarity of a sharply rung bell - crystal clear, unmistakable, and undeniable. The suddenness of understanding was a shock, and yet she couldn’t seem to be bothered by it. And that was stranger than all the rest. Emotions thoroughly confused, Aislinn put her mind back to the conversation at hand.

“And no, I don’t think I’ll be yelling stop this time, well… unless you want me to?” she teased him, and then shook her head. “My poor brain can’t come up with anything better right now, and Non-con wasn’t something I had in mind, anyway. It’s your art I’m curious about.”

Lair, a little voice in her mind hissed. It wasn’t the art that was influencing her ludicrously impulsive choices, it was the man behind the mask.

She understood that Brent’s statement that he was going to begin was in some part a warning of what was to come as much as it felt like request at her readiness. Her eyes flicked over to him as he came to her side and back into her field of view and she watched strong, sure fingers gather up a coil of rope and then wrap it around one of her wrists. Honest curiosity kept a lingering feeling of warning at bay as the rope settled against her skin, but her breathing seemed to simultaneously deepen and quicken anyway. She was admiring the way the knot looked something like a cute little box when he took the looped end and used it to pull her hand up to the back of her neck.

Aislinn straightened automatically, her body turning slightly toward Brent, and her other hand came off the table. It was a startled response more than anything, but some part of her mind understood that her free hand wasn’t really free and was supposed to still be on that table. Again, thankful for her mask, Aislinn tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks as she purposefully, slowly set her free hand back on the table where it belonged. It wasn’t so much worry of Brent’s disappointment that made her do it, or even that thought that was in control. It was her own annoyance at being so easily startled and unsettled by those demandable blue eyes that insisted on seeing her weakness even when it was hidden behind the apparent safety of her mask.

Palm flat against the table top once more, Aislinn made herself pay attention as he explained the knot. She focused on his words so that her mind didn’t have time to worry about the heart beat hammering away in her throat, the never-ending blush in her skin that refused to leave, the almost painful tightening of her nipples, or the tingling at the juncture between her thighs that had started some time ago and was becoming insistent about receiving some kind of attention.

He moved behind her again, but was closer this time. He reached around her to capture the wrist of her free hand in a grip that was gentle and yet as unyielding as steel. As he did the length of his body was pressed against her back. The firm muscle of his chest and torso pressed against her shoulders and back for only a second, and suddenly Aislinn felt far too small by comparison. The heat of his skin scalded her, and then her mind was dragged down to where the fabric of his pants brushed against her bare backside. Some lecherous creature inside her wanted badly to arch her back and grind herself against him. The urge welled up out of nowhere and stole her breath. Aislinn closed her eyes against it, and then a fresh bit of rope was secured against her skin. Tied as she was, her back was pulled straight and her chest lifted high, and the urge faded as she became more sensitive to the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath.

Those lips almost touched her skin again as he whispered to her, and a fiery chill shot right down her spine. Aislinn made herself take a slow, deep breath. The word captive stuck with her a moment longer than it should have. It struck a chord that was just part and parcel of the paranoia that built half the rules and guidelines that brought order to the underground world she called home. Behind her he laughed, but the sound wasn’t as honest as it had been before. The statement that followed wasn’t quite right, either. It was flippant in the way of someone that spoke to fill a silence. His heart wasn’t in it, his passion was missing… because his mind was somewhere else.

Something beneath her skin shivered, and Aislinn took another deep breath, the honeyed tips of her breasts raising and falling at a steady, even pace as she took control back over her senses. The stranger in the mask stood quietly behind her, waiting for… what? It took an effort to push back the ingrained understanding that everyone was an enemy to be feared for Aislinn to allow herself to gently pull against the ropes without a sense of panic. She tested them slowly, pulling this way, then that, twisted her hands, her arms, and sure enough, those ropes were not coming loose.

I am not yet defenseless her mind whispered, denying the fears that threatened to take over. I am not going to live in fear.

His hands left her wrists and settled high on her ribs where his fingertips just brushed the warm skin of her breasts. Aislinn sucked in a gasp as they slid down her sides to rest on her hips, and then her eyes closed again. She was a bundle of raw nerves, her skin crying out for contact, and somehow it made the sense of vulnerability deepen when she realized she couldn’t do anything about it. His thumbs pressed into tense muscles in her lower back, made them relax and release, and then he would play with the string of the thong she wore and make them tighten again. She was standing back on the wire, ready to fall one way or the other, and he was her balance.

His chin brushed her shoulder, his cheek nudged against her hair, and then his breath fanned against her ear and neck as he asked her how it felt. Electricity arched from that tiny contact all the way down to her toes and back again, and the breath she held left her lungs in a rush.

“Confining,” it was the first word that came to mind, so it was the first word past her lips. There was more to it, but she couldn’t get the thoughts from her mind to her tongue. It was confining, but she felt comfortable in it, not controlled or defeated by it. Somewhere beneath the tension he was brilliantly rebuilding, she felt stronger than she had before the first knot had been tied. Now, with the full length of his body so close to her own, and yet held so carefully away, she felt far more like she was the dangerous predator in the room. One that had to be handled with care and yet met on an equal playing field to enjoy as well as survive encountering.

“Yes,” a second question, a second answer, but one that was stronger than the first had been. Of course, more could mean many things… and her mind was working out a great deal of more that didn’t include adding more ropes and knots, but instead the removal of every stitch of fabric that separated her skin from his.

“I don’t know,” it was as honest as she could be. She hadn’t started any of this with a clear plan of what she meant to accomplish or where she meant to end up. There were warring factions in her own mind that fought over a building duality. It was her responsibility to look out for her own well-being, and if she couldn’t come up with an answer for him, she was putting them both at risk. A clear boundary, something to give her peace of mind, and Brent a safety-net to avoid causing her harm. He was looking out for her wellbeing, and as she realized the truth of that thought, one faction over took the other. Her lingering paranoia vanished, and a little smile played about her lips as she felt it go.

Aislinn couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked out for her well being because they cared about her instead of what she was worth. Brent, the stranger in a mask that stood behind her, was carrying the weight of her trust and her wellbeing on his shoulders as if they weighed nothing at all. And yet - while Aislinn’s mind was swarmed with sexual tension and fantasies – her trust and wellbeing where at the forefront of his concerns.

There was an ache in her chest that opened up. It was an empty place that threatened to swallow her, but Aislinn closed up and put it away. She'd deal with that emotion some other day. This wasn't it's time or place. It wasn't going to take this away from her.

“Help me decide,” she whispered back to him after a moment, her voice sure and even despite how out of breath she felt. “Tell me what you have in mind for me, and I will tell you what I think I can handle. Does that sound fair?”

"You are right, we are just going to have fun. Why would you want to yell stop to that?" replied Brent with another chuckle. She was definitely on edge still, teetering back and forth between giving in to her eager curiosity or listening to the sane part of her brain that was wondering why the fuck she was letting this stranger have his way with her almost naked body!

Tying up a woman for her first time was one of Brent's favorite thrills. Every woman's reaction was unique and he savored seeing shibari through their inexperienced eyes. For Rose, there was curiosity at first, her eyes flicking as she followed his hands and listened to him speak. Then came surprise as she straightened involuntarily when he pulled her wrists with the rope and she felt the knot as a restraint and not a decoration for the first time. Was her chest flushing as she placed her free hand back down on the table to comply with his orders? Her breathing seemed heavier as he brushed his body against her to pull that other hand up behind her neck. He could see the tension building in her body again as he bound them together. And finally came that always sexy moment when a woman tries her ropes for the first time and realizes that she is well and truly caught.

Deep breaths now, she was trying to calm herself. She liked her freedom and was used to being in control. Was she freaking out? She must feel helpless and even scarier, under the control of a stranger. But, was she more turned on and curious about going further, or ready to say her easy to remember safe word and end this little game?

Brent knew he had her when he whispered in her ear. Just the way her body shivered slightly against him hinted that she was enjoying this, whether that sane part of her brain liked it or not. She would go further, but how far?

"Confining? Helpless? Maybe feeling a bit crazy that you are letting me do this?" replied Brent, reminding her with the word 'letting' that she was still somewhat in control. "Hopefully arousing as well. This is for fun, remember. You can admit it. Make sure you enjoy it."

The hands on her sides shifted, hooked under the string of her thong, and began to slide it down her hips. Just as the wisp of cloth in the front threatened to slide off her mound and bare her sex, Brent paused.

"Well, I was thinking of taking this off for starters. Aesthetically it doesn't work well with ropes," murmured Brent. His left her thong at the top of her thighs and began to pantomime his next verbal description with his fingertips, gliding them lightly around her taut stomach and circling the full mounds of her breasts. "I was going to start with a girdle. It would crisscross your stomach like this. With a webbed patterned through here. Then I'd have two bands, one here below your breasts. The other just above them, but under your collarbone, right here."

The fingers slid around her sides to the wrists tied behind her head and Brent tugged Rose's hands backwards and down slightly.

"I'd attach your hands into the girdle with a little tension, then take two lines down your spine to your rear, braided tight. They would run through your cheeks, and finally I'd have them split to circle each of your thighs up high like garters, right here," Brent continued, hands following his narration again down her back and ass, but brushing dangerously close to her sex as he ended by reaching around to her front with his fingers resting on her inner thighs. "That would be the first restraint for you, to get you used to the feeling of more rope on your body. Does that sound good? I want to make sure you are comfortable as there will be some... intimate... contact needed to perform this knotwork."

“Not Helpless,” Aislinn answered him as she felt the pads of his fingertips slip beneath the elastic string of her thong and slip down over her skin, "something else." The small bit of fabric that remained against her skin grew loose, and at the same time that a tiny moment of panic made her heart skip a beat, his hands paused. “Now, crazy… that one sounds right,” she found herself laughing as she said it, and was surprised at how easily the mood shifted again. Comfort and Tension seemed to slip back and forth through her in waves, and she still hadn’t figured out how exactly her masked stranger was doing it, even if she was certain it had to be all his fault. “But, I am enjoying it.”

Aislinn felt her lips twist into a smirk beneath her mask as he talked about removing her thong. But, she didn’t move, not yet/i], as his hand slid around her middle. The feeling of warm palms pressed over her flat stomach made her hold her breath. It was surprisingly how much more intimate that small contact felt as he explained his plans for her and his ropes. His hands lifted to over her ribs rest just beneath her breasts, lifting them just enough to feel their weight in his hands as he told her about the rope that would rest there. She had asked, and gave her a deliberately detailed answer. His fingers traced where another rope would rest, just below her collar bone, and then returned to her wrists. He pulled back and down just enough that she felt her back arch a touch, her balance shifting so that she had to depend on him, trust him, not to struggle against that small shift. It was a small reminder of what she’d willingly given over, and it painted a vivid picture of just how much give and take there was between them.

His narration continued as his fingertips trailed a devilish line down her back, and then right between the cheeks of her backside before snaking around to stroke her inner thigh. The ropes would require Intimidate contact, he said, as if he had not been enjoying quite a bit of that with her body already. It made Aislinn want to laugh, but instead, she let herself lean back against him. He stood solidly behind her, so she let him support her weight as she shifted her stance a little wider.

“I think I can handle it.” Aislinn lifted one leg just enough that one side of her thong slipped down past her hip, then the other to repeat the process so that the thin scrap of fabric fell from its precarious perch and then slipped down her legs. Again, she shifted her feet, getting one high-heeled foot free before using the other to lightly toss the thong away. “There now, nothing to muddle the aesthetic.”

She straightened up again, her heart hammering away in her ears. Sure, she sounded confident, even though she felt confident, but there was something… the ropes, his voice, those eyes, her nakedness against the fabric of his clothes… something of it all was touching on something she didn’t completely understand just yet.

With her arms tied as they were, and one of his hands holding the rope at her wrists, there was little else Aislinn could do. "I am ready when you are."

Rose was enjoying his teasing fingers and Brent took his sweet time exploring her body to prolong the fun for both of them. The weight of her breasts in his hands as he cupped them was delicious and it took all of his will to release those soft mounds and move on to the rest of her body. When his fingers came to rest at her thighs, close enough to her sex that he could almost feel the heat radiating from her, she leaned back against him and sought even more contact on her own. That delicious, round bottom pushed against him and he could feel his cock swelling in his pants in response.

She definitely knew what she was doing to him as she used his body for balance, shimmying her hips teasingly to shake her thong free and grinding her rear against his cock. There was no point in trying to hide his arousal and he met her ass, pushing back against her and letting her feel what she was doing to him. The little kick of her heeled foot at the end made her ass bump hard against him one last time and then she straightened to stand on her own again. He missed that contact already.

"You know what to say if you can't handle it," responded Brent, a bit of challenge in his voice. His hand grasped her bound wrists again and he gave them a short tug downward. The other hand cupped one of her ass cheeks lightly, only to playfully slap the round globe. "That's for teasing me when I'm supposed to be the one doing the teasing."

She was standing tall again, legs close together, and Brent slipped one foot inside hers and, with two firm taps, pushed her feet apart to just beyond the width of her shoulders. Forced wide, her spread open thighs hid nothing.

"We'll start with the front of the girdle. I'll go bottom to top," Brent said as he grabbed a long coil of rope from the table. Another slow circle as he studied her fully nude form, then he moved forward and began to tie her. He crouched before her, eyes level with her sex as his hands moved to place the first coil around her inner thigh. His fingers moved expertly, guiding her to turn her thigh outward at times. He purposely avoided touching her cleft until the end, when he pulled the garter of rope high and tight to seat it next to her engorged sex. A quick loop above her hips, and he repeated his work on her other thigh until she had a matching set.

"Perfect," said Brent with a smile, staring directly at Rose's sex now framed by the two rope garters. If her thighs were pressed back together, the rope would press on her outer lips. "Now, I'm going to work on the bottom knot. The rope starts back here, in the small of your back... and runs like this."

His hand reached through her legs and curved up to tap her sacrum, just above the crack of her ass. Then he dragged a finger through her crack slowly, moving that digit down and towards him. Brushing over her pucker, he continued into her hot cleft and dragged it through her folds until he reached the bump of her clit, where he paused.

"And I'll tie a knot right here," he said, grinning up at her. His finger moved on her clit as a demonstration. "Every motion you make, every time you stretch the girdle, you'll feel it here. Think you can handle that?"

He'd tie the remainder of the girdle after that, criss-crossing up her stomach until her reached her breasts. Of course, she'd realize that every tug on his ropes and knots as he worked also would rub that cruel knot against her clit. There would need to be an adjustment here, a cinch there, and lots of wiggles to make sure everything is nice and tight. Getting tied up was going to be non-stop stimulation for the poor woman.

So, he wasn’t shy. He didn’t even attempt to hide the fact that she had an effect on him, not even under the excuse of propriety. Instead, he pressed into her, and the heat of him burned into her skin. Aislinn couldn’t resist the vivid images that rushed through mind, all involving the hard cock pressed tight against her ass. Despite his restrained and calm demeanor, there was a deeper aggression in him somewhere. It tugged at her, drew her in, like a moth to flame. Aggression she understood.

“I know what to say,” she answered carefully. She heard the dual edge in his voice, but she didn’t have time to examine what it might mean. A small, startled sound escaped her lips as he gave her wrists a little tug downward, narrowing her attention back to the moment. His other hand cupped, and caressed her back side, and then gave one cheek a playful slap that made her bite her lips to keep form giggling.

“Should I say I’m sorry,” she teased, laughter on her voice again. Knowing he was just as effected by all if this has she was made her feel bolder. Of course, she’d never admit aloud that the proof of his arousal felt branded into her skin. But, despite that, he was seemingly still in complete control of himself, something she envied greatly when her own senses felt far outside her control.

One of his feet slipped between her own, and gently, but firmly, widened her stance with two taps that almost dared her to say something, anything, about it. The hand still at her wrists kept her balance secure as her legs were forced wide enough that cool air assaulted the damp lips of her sex. The sensation made her suck in a slow breath, but the deepening sense of vulnerability made her shiver.

"We'll start with the front of the girdle.” His voice cut through her thoughts and brought her focus back to him as Brent collected more rope from the table and began to walk another slow circle around her. Whether it was for his benefit or hers was unclear, but despite his eyes closely studying her body again, she found she felt strangely… comfortable. And then he came close again and kneeled before her.

Aislinn held her breath, watching him with a mixed sense of curiosity and nervousness. Some part of her was complaining that he was far too close while some other part fussed that he was not close enough at all – but they were both silenced as he slipped his rope around her thigh. She genuinely liked the sure, strong movements of his fingers as they worked. They tickled her inner thigh at times, firmly gripped her leg to adjust her stance at others, and the surety in each touch quieted the nervousness that had been building. Even so, when his hands brushed against her sex in order to wrap his rope around the very top of her thigh, it became difficult to breath properly. In the interest of playfulness, she cleared her throat as if admonish him, but she didn’t try to escape the contact, and he didn’t seem inclined to avoid it.

When the rope garters were in place and Brent was sitting back to admire his work, Aislinn’s mind and body were entirely focused on the masked stranger that sat so wonderfully close, and yet so terribly far away from where he had carefully cultivated an ache that was spreading from her moist slit to sit heavy in her lower abdomen. When he sat back and smiled, admiring his work and staring at her sex, Aislinn was surprised by the sudden urge to try and hide herself from him. She wasn’t easily embarrassed, and no one had ever accused her of being shy… so why did she suddenly feel that way?

Again, Brent took the time to explain what he meant to do… but as his hand reached between her legs she found herself holding her breath again. She watched him wide-eyed as his fingers tapped her lower back, and then slid down between her ass cheeks without so much as a hint of hesitation. He didn’t seek permission of any kind, he simply touched her as he pleased, and something about it was more deeply arousing than anything that had happened before. Her jaw clench as his fingers brushed boldly over the darkest part of her lily-white backside, and then continued to slip between the moist lips of her sex. She’d forgotten how to breath by the time his fingertip paused against her clit. All sensation centered there with a twitch-inducing intensity.

Please.

Her eyes were closed when he looked up, but they snapped open when she heard his voice again. He was going to tie a knot right where his finger was resting. That could be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you looked at it. It took a few seconds to realize he was grinning up at her, a man well aware of himself, her, and the game he was playing with her. It was goading.

“Yes,” her voice was clipped, but not angry. It was just sharp because she didn’t trust herself to speak without giving herself away any more than her body already had. That finger was still just sitting there, and she rolled her hips slightly to prove her point, stealing a little relief in the form of stimulation. “I can take it.”

He took away the contact between them after that, but it wasn’t long before his ropes replaced his fingers. He hadn’t been lying about that little knot - if she moved it rubbed deliciously against that sensitive bud… However, he had omitted that as he tied the rest of the girdle, every little tug or adjustment was going to make that knot rub and shift over her clit. This meant that she was almost constantly stimulated, and what could have otherwise been a source of relief became a device for torture. Every other tug of those ropes made her shiver, and it was only a stern, stubborn will to deny him the pleasure of hearing her moan that kept her quiet.

By the end of it all, the ropes beneath her breasts lifted them, and the ropes over them gently pressed down to hold them in place so that her taunt nipples point proudly upward. Over all, the ropes were comfortable rather than confining. They were tight against her skin, but they didn’t constrict her breathing, or even the movement of her legs. But, the most sensitive and intimate parts of her body were on great display, and Aislinn felt more naked than she had before the ropes had been put into place. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the need to cover herself, hide her body from his eyes… but there was little she could do to hide.

If she pulled her legs together, the rope garters would only press the lips of her sex together between the ropes. With her wrists tied together behind her neck, she couldn’t use her arms to hide her chest. The fact of the matter was, she was well and truly exposed and had nowhere to hide. And yet, once he was done, all she really wanted was his hands back on her skin again.

Now, how did I get here? she wondered, thinking back to where they had met. How had she gone from politely curious about this stranger in a mask that played with ropes, to tied up in his ropes, alone, and aching for him? It was insane to be where she was right now… but she couldn’t convince herself that she wanted to be anywhere other than where she was.

Maybe I have gone crazy after all.

"You don't have to apologize, I'll make sure you are sorry," teased Brent back in reply to her question. There was humor in his voice, but the situation naturally lent other overtones which he definitely wanted her to think about. "I'm sure you will give me lots to make you sorry about."

She clearly enjoyed the fact that she was arousing him and her encouragement made it easier for Brent take a bit more liberties while he tied her up. With the vantage he had on her sex, she couldn't deny the fact that she was equally as aroused. Her swollen lips peeked out between her spread thighs and the musky scent of her arousal was impossible to hide. The back of his hand could feel the dampness in her cleft as he pulled up the rope garters and his hand emerged, after some unneeded rubbing, glistening with her juices. Brent couldn't help but wonder how she tasted as he glanced at his wet skin. Rose's throat clearing at the intimate contact didn't slow his fingers down at all, but earned her a quick wry smile before his eyes returned to his work. Having control also meant maintaining his self-control and he fought the urge to tease her more at this early stage. He was confident he would get everything he wanted in due time, or at least what he needed.

When his finger returned to draw the most intimate line a man could trace on a woman, he found her cleft even more aroused and practically dripping by the time he paused on her clit. So much tension and aching need had been created from such a small gesture. His finger traveled maybe eight inches at best, yet that little journey had forced her to close her eyes in pleasure and left her breathless and twitching. Amazing. This was the kind of reaction Brent loved, a girl turned on by his control, his ropes, and most of all his touch. Fuck he was hard right now and had to take his own deep breath to keep his iron self-control intact. His pleasure could wait.

"Good girl," replied Brent with a pleased nod as she accepted the challenge.

Placing the knot at the proper angle on her clit required lots of careful fingering and frequent adjustments of slack to get the positioning of the now slippery rope just right. And creating the intricate girdle around her torso was similarly difficult, demanding frequent tugs and adjustments to craft series of loops up her belly that held the ribs of the design together. While he wasn't overtly trying to stimulate her, he likely couldn't have done a better job even if he had been making an all out effort. By the time he was finishing her breasts he could feel the shivers of pleasure the web of rope was creating, even though Rose seemed to have set her jaw and was fighting to not let any moans slip out.

"Almost done, does this feel too tight at all?," said Brent, fingers caressing her breasts from behind under the pretense of checking the amount of pressure they were under from the ropes that squeezed them. Her nipples were so hard they felt like little pebbles under the palms of his hands. A thumb and finger on each rolled them gently as he thought for a second. Perhaps he should have tied them into the girdle as well? A shrug and he released them as he decided he could always fix that later. "I'm going to set the final tension rope down your back now."

The last rope hooked the top of the girdle to her wrists and followed her spine down in thick braids to tie into the rope that split her ass. Once properly tensioned, it arched her back slightly, forcing her breasts to point upwards and pulling her rear backwards slightly. Only then, under tension, did the diabolical structure of the girdle finally reveal itself. Every breath she took and every motion she made would pressure the rope that rested in her slit, with the knot of her clit as the focal point that would send sweet pulses of pressure directly into that sensitive nub. Balanced precariously, the knot threatened to slip over her clit at any moment and was in fact designed to flick back and forth at times, such as if she tried to straighten her back or her wrists pulled too high.

"Ok, now take a couple deep breaths and tell me how it feels now," murmured Brent in her ear again as he pressed his body against hers from behind. His cock was hard and he let it nestle against her rear. One hand went to rest lightly on her wrists while the other dropped to rest on her stomach. Some more cruel advice followed. "Did I get the tension right? Try to straighten and twist."

”Good Girl,”

Why was that phrase still ringing in her head? It held echoes of people and places she didn’t want to think about. Their voices used it to insult and wound. His didn’t. His voice had something very different in it, and his words wouldn’t go away.

Even so… she was coming to the conclusion that the man was evil incarnate.

“No, not too tight,” she answered as she worked the tension out of her jaw. His hands were warm on her breasts as he held her from behind. There was a sweetness to the sensation that relaxed the pint-up tension caused by the little knot that tormented her clit, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as he caught each sensitive nipple and gently rolled them. Aislinn arched into the sensation without thinking, lifting her breasts a little higher into the air while she imagined his lips against her skin instead of his fingers. “It’s actually… comfortable,” she finished when he released her, some part of her mind utterly at odds with the fact that she liked being trapped in his ropes.

Brent's hands were sure and confident, strong and gentle, and she felt safe under his attention and within the confines of his ropes. Aislinn realized she trusted this man she didn't even know far more than she trusted even Mallory. That poor man treated her like family, or what she believe was like family, and he held her secrets. But the man the slowly bound her, she'd put everything in his hands... and she was safe.

The final braid of ropes that he gave her pulled her wrists down and her shoulders back, and her precarious balance almost required her masked stranger to keep his hands on her. One strong hand settled on her wrists, the other on her stomach, and her drew her back against him once more. A small sound escaped her lips against her will. The fabric of his pants couldn’t protect her from the feel of his cock nestling between the split cheeks of her ass, hard, ready, and branding her with its heat. She should have been insulted, afraid, angry… anything other than the wanton she was as she pushed back against him. He told her to take a couple of deep breaths and let him know how it felt, but the breath she took in came right back out as a low moan as that knot shifted and flipped over her clit.

“Yes, I think you go the tension right,” Aislinn almost laughed as she dropped her head back against his shoulder again. Knowing what it would cause, Aislinn still twisted her hips from one side to the other, simultaneously grinding her backside against him and rolling the little, damp knot of rope over her clit.

“If this keeps up…” she stopped herself before she finished that statement. Aislinn had never considered some ropes and knots could be used to make her feel this way. A fresh blush was creeping into her skin, a telltale warning. If this kept up, she was going to come for him, and he would have gotten her there with little more than a few careful touches and that one, perfectly placed knot. A little smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth, and Aislinn let herself relax. She allowed Brent to support her weight as she rolled her hips back against him, tormenting them both. It was insane… but wasn’t this part of what she had come here for? – the freedom to do exactly what she wanted, when she wanted, and with whoever she wanted… and what she wanted right now was to torment the masked stranger behind her as much as his artfully crafted girdle was tormenting her.

Aislinn arched her back to keep her ass pressed firmly against the demanding pressure of his cock against her skin, as she turned her masked face upward to see the hard, hungry blue eyes looking down at her.

“Do I need your permission?” she teased on a breathless whisper, swallowing back a moan as that knot flipped again and her body shivered. Behind her, she felt her masked man and his iron will draw tight with the same tension she felt in response to the little lure she’d just thrown out. She had to wonder, how far was he willing to go with the mysterious, masked woman whose face he’d never seen? How far was she willing to go? Had they already past the point where asking those questions didn’t matter anymore?

Safety and sanity be damned.

“Or can I come whenever I please?”

The ropes were snug, the girdle done, and Brent could finally admire his work, or rather the effects his work was having on the beautiful masked woman who now writhed against him. One hand stayed on her wrists, moving them slightly as he expertly adjusted the tension on the bottom rope against her movements. The other hand moved over the front of her body, enjoying the feeling of ropes and bare skin alternating as he tested his knots. She felt like a taut string on the verge of snapping and his fingers plucked her mercilessly.

"If this keeps up... what?" asked Brent in feigned ignorance as his fingers tested the now wet knot on her clit. It seemed to be balanced perfectly, slipping against her button when her back arched and pushing against her slit with every breath. It helped that her breathing was coming a bit quicker now, almost panting as that unavoidable act stimulated her already sorely teased nub. He felt her leaning back against him, her body needing his for balance and her ass rubbing shamelessly against his hard cock. Lips brushed against her ear when her head flipped backward to rest on his shoulder and he murmured gently, "Permission?"

The hand on her wrist pulled down, releasing some slack into the tormenting bottom rope. With a small sigh of regret, and another reminder to himself that he had to stay in control, Brent stepped aside and pulled his hips away from her rear. Now those round globes were swaying temptingly before him and he brought his hand down in a hard spank that set one to jiggling. He knew she was balanced on the edge of ecstasy and studied her response to that sharp sting of pain with curiosity. Had Rose ever been spanked like this before? Would she, like some women, find new heights of pleasure from the mix of discipline, pain, and pleasure he was giving her?

"Of course you need my permission. You need to earn your cum. But first, you need a spanking for getting me hard," said Brent, his voice turning into a growl. The hand on her wrist jerked up with every blow that followed, forcing the knot against her aching clit and sending pulses of pleasure into her. At first he was slow, palm resting on her ass after each blow and rubbing her skin gently. Gradually his tempo increased and he began to pepper her succulent rear until her pale skin was turning rosy pink. The hand on her wrists matched his tempo, pulling the knot against her clit faster as he built the spanking into a crescendo that urged her to cum.

"You aren't going to cum without my permission, are you? From only a spanking!? Can't you control yourself?"

If the night ever ended, Aislinn had the strangest feeling she would dream of blue eyes, knotted ropes, and talented fingers. If anything could have tempted her to press her legs together in an effort to hide herself, it was those very same digits taking the excuse to check that knot that rolled and flipped over tender flesh. His feigned ignorance made Aislinn laugh despite herself, even with his lips brushing against her ear to make her skin tingle. She had to admit it, he had learned quickly.

He sighed, a small sound, but one filled with self-denial. It gave Aislinn a sense of pause, like a moment when a beautiful music just stopped to leave an unfinished silence hanging on the air so that the listener was left holding their breath; waiting for something that would never happen. He was utterly unlike any other man she knew, and a since of shame began to settle in. She’d handed him nearly every advantage to abuse her trust, and he’d taken not a single one. Meanwhile, she’d been doing absolutely nothing to make it easy on him. The honesty of the situation was stark and sobering. He may not know it, but she was using him to satisfy her need to rebel against things she couldn’t control, and it wasn’t fair.

He stepped back, separating them so that cool air replaced his warmth, and it drove home the sudden void she felt forming between them. She’d put his very life at risk for this little game. It was stupid and selfish and…

Did he just spank me?!

Something like amusement blended with a sense of shock as her mind was brought back to the situation at hand by the sharp clap of his hand against her rear, and the answering sting that followed it. She wasn’t sure if she should be angry or embarrassed, but the absurdness of it all was something she was never going to forget – right along with the strange idea that she might like him to do that again.

“Oh really?” she spoke as she laughed. “I don’t remember needing your permission being part of the original agreement.” Whatever else she was going to say faded as the idea of earning her orgasm settled in. Just how exactly, or what exactly he planned on to fulfill that one was deeply distracting. Of course, he didn’t let it rest there. “Wait – for making you hard?”

She had barely gotten the question out, or registered the dark growl in his voice, or the trouble she had gotten herself into before he struck her again, and counterpointed the painful sting with a little tug on her wrists that made that knot flip again. He took his time, and selfish curiosity kept Aislinn intrigued and pliant. The sting of each slap was sharp, but bearable, particularly with Brent wielding that evil little knot as easily as he would his fingers to torment her clit.

At least, at first.

More strikes followed, and then they quickened, until Aislinn found herself instinctually trying to escape them. The pain built until she was turning this way and that to get away, and yet that only helped Brent’s cause. Small shouts escaped her throat between moans, sounds as conflicted and at odds with each other as her senses and her mind. Pain and pleasure blended together until it was hard to tell one from the other. On some level, she heard his taunt - simultaneously goading her to let go and cum for him while issuing the challenge to outlast it – and it struck a chord.

She didn’t have control, that was the problem. And what did she do about it? – she ran out and threw away even more. It was stupid, childish, and she was a fool.

“Brent,” she regretted the sound of his name on her lips almost as soon as she said it, but it had to be done. All at once, everything stopped, and Aislinn was left shaking and panting as she tried to pick up the pieces of her fractured ego. “My shoulders,” she offered up the lame excuse, shrugging and rolling them as if to work out an ache. “I need to get my arms down.”

She had barely finished speaking when a new sound floated on the air. A cell phone? She hadn’t brought hers. His, then? In the space of a second the world expanded, and it wasn’t just them anymore. She felt the shift in him, a change that made her feel ill at ease. However, he took the time to loosen and remove the tension rope, and then free her wrists before he stepped away to end the persistent ringing.

A moment ago, Aislinn had felt almost rooted to the where she stood, now she couldn’t step away from that table fast enough. Walking, in and of itself, was its own kind of torment, but at least she could walk. She fidgeted with her wrists, rubbing them even though there was no ache to rub out of them, as she allowed him to put more space between them. Aislinn waited as he moved deeper into the room, until she could barely make out his voice, before she snatched up her dress from the floor and slipped it back into place. No one would miss the ropes beneath, but who was seriously going to ask any questions?

Well, other than Mallory, anyway.

Her thong was… somewhere… and she wasn’t going to spend time trying to find it. A glance over her shoulder made sure he wasn’t looking, and Aislinn sighed. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and then unlocked the door and slipped out.