The Eye of the Beholder

By MichaelD38

Copyright © 1998

IMPORTANT LEGAL INFORMATION

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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons is unintentional and strictly coincidental. This work contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity, and anyone offended by such things should read no further. If reception of this work is illegal due to your age or other repressive local regulations, liability for downloading it is your problem, not mine. This work is intended solely for the quiet and private enjoyment of adults, and any other use is a violation of the copyright.

This work is Copyright 1999 by MichaelD38@aol.com and is protected by United States and other international copyright law. Reposting and archiving is permitted, except where a fee of any sort is required or earned for access, provided this disclaimer and note remain attached to the story. All other rights, specifically rights of commercial use, are reserved. Commercial use here is defined to include posting on membership web sites, banner-funded web sites, and those protected by fee-based age validation methods (such as Adultcheck and Adultsights). However, exception is specifically made for web sites (such as DejaNews) that provide archiving and access to all Usenet posts in a particular group without editing or selection for content. No modifications may be made to this story without express permission from the author. Any questions regarding use of this work can be directed to the address above. Failure to contact the author prior to use is presumptive evidence of bad faith and may expose you to significant criminal and civil liability.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This introduction is on the long side, so if you're only interested in the sex, feel free to skip it. A word of warning, though--this is not your usual ASSM story. This piece is the longest thing I have written since "The Needle and the Dungeon," and there is a lot going on in here, sexual and otherwise. This note provides some necessary depth and background to what follows.

This story began as something quite a bit different from what it became. It had its genesis in a rather heated e-mail discussion I had with one of my readers over my story "The Subtleties of Justice." This reader felt that that work was an unfair and unrealistic indictment of the BDSM lifestyle. I tried to explain, with limited success, that TSOJ was intended as something to break the molds, not as a more conventional BDSM story like "The Needle and the Dungeon." While I have some problems with the pretension that sometimes infects BDSM fiction, I did not mean to imply that everyone who enjoys that sort of stuff is a psychopath at heart. If anyone else took it that way, I apologize.

The discussion gave me some ideas, however. I decided that, if in fact I had problems with BDSM fiction, and was going to hold forth to that effect (as I have done on several occasions), then I ought to put my money where my mouth is and see if I could do any better. Thus began what I intended as the story of a fairly straightforward BDSM relationship. As the work progressed, I discovered that I had bitten off quite a bit more than I had anticipated, and that BDSM was much more complex than I had once thought. Bit by bit, the story expanded into something far longer and more convoluted than I expected. This is still the tale of a BDSM relationship; it is also a heck of a lot more.

Another issue is worth raising here. I have discovered, over the past few months, that I appear to have two distinct bodies of readers: one which slavers over my romantic works like "Sunset on Roses," OCB, and the two "Summer Camp" stories, and another that demands that I produce more stories like "The Needle and the Dungeon." Although the latter group appears not to care about the former, I have been requested (nay, implored) on more than one occasion to focus my energies on romance and stop trying to write BDSM. I bring this up not to continue talking about myself but because this story strikes me as a blending of those two threads. This is a unquestionably a BDSM story, but it is also a romance in the tradition of "Sunset on Roses." Those of you in the first group may find this story more enjoyable than you might think.

Though fictional, this work is based, very loosely, on a brief experience I had on a Los Angeles-area bulletin board system in 1994. Any identifying details have been blurred beyond recognition.

Yet another note (but the last): That fourth element in the subject line coding is not a typo. Those few of you who know what it means may be rather surprised to find it here, not in the least because most people find semiotics to be about the least erotic concept imaginable. Rest assured that its inclusion in this story is neither gratuitous nor facetious, and indeed, I think I may have found a way to eroticize this driest of analytical techniques. You should see what I mean when you read this. If you don't have a clue what I'm talking about here, don't worry. The necessary explanations appear in the story.

A great deal of effort went into this work, not all of which was my own. I owe plentiful thanks to Lady Sara, Neverless, and Lisala for extensive proofreading and feedback.

Intelligent comments and criticisms will receive appropriate responses. Flames and juvenile slobbering go straight to the recycling bin.

THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

Copyright © 1999 by MichaelD38@aol.com

I.

The roses planted outside Professor Larson's office were dark red, the color of spilled blood.

"And . . . just where did you come up with this idea?"

I shifted in my chair, trying not to let her startled reaction throw me off track.

"I want to do something unusual. Something no one has done before."

"Well, in that respect, I think you may have succeeded. I haven't heard of anyone examining this particular genre in such a fashion."

I had picked Phoebe Larson because I thought she would be able to address my proposed thesis topic without being put off by the sexual aspects of it. I mean, this was a woman who had done her doctoral dissertation on underground erotica written by medieval nuns. If anyone else in the department would be better able to help me with what I wanted to do, I didn't know who they were.

She pushed her gold-rimmed reading glasses up her narrow nose and continued studying my proposal.

"This is certainly going to be a challenge, I can tell you that much."

"I've been gathering literature for it all summer."

She looked up at me, a small smile creasing her lips.

"Have you?"

"Yes."

"Such as?"

"Well, 'The Story of "O."' The 'Sleeping Beauty' series by Anne Rice. Some of de Sade's books, although I think it may be stronger stuff than I want to work with."

"Which ones?"

"'Justine' and 'Juliette.' I just finished the first one."

"I don't know that I would put De Sade is the same category as the rest of this. In any case, his work has been thoroughly dissected over the years. It might be worth some attention in your literature review, but for your analysis you ought to focus on something more recent."

"I thought of that. I found a series of studies by this German scholar--"

"Iwan Bloch. That ground has been plowed extensively."

"Right. So I won't focus on de Sade. But what I've found is that a lot of the most recent works are being published on the Internet. There's more there than I realized."

"All right. Can you articulate for me what is you plan to do?"

I took a deep breath.

"I want to explore the semiotic aspects of BDSM erotica. I want to find out what the central signifiers are that tie all this together and make it so appealing to some people and so offensive to others. I don't know yet what my thesis is going to be. That's going to take a lot of research to formulate, but I'm certain there's something in there."

The smile broadened.

"Are you planning any actual fieldwork for this, or do you think you'll spend all your time in the library?"

"Uh . . ."

I shifted nervously again. Was she serious?

"I don't know."

She set my proposal down on her desk and leaned back in her chair.

"Danny, you're biting off maybe more than you realize here. It's going to take more than library research to get at the heart of your topic."

A question formed in my mind, but I wasn't sure I could let it out.

"What do you mean?"

"I simply mean that BDSM, from what I know of it, is more than erotica. I don't mean that fieldwork needs to be the heart of this project, but it's something to consider."

I exhaled slowly.

"Does this mean you'll be my advisor?"

She smiled again.

"Yes. But I'm going to demand a lot out of you. Erotica is so often slighted by serious researchers. Let me warn you that I take the subject very seriously."

I let myself relax.

"Okay. Thanks."

And thus began the second year of my pursuit of a Master's degree in English Literature. Not everyone wrote a thesis these days--you could take the comprehensive exams in lieu of it now--but I had always wanted to tackle something offbeat and challenging rather than take the less complicated (if not necessarily easier) way out. The conventional bodies of literature had begun to bore me, and I had decided that summer that using BDSM might be a way to inject some life into my analyses.

That night, I got to thinking about what Phoebe Larson had said. What exactly did she mean by "fieldwork"? She didn't seriously expect me to don some fetish outfit and descend into a dungeon, did she? Not that it might not be helpful, but it was maybe further than I wanted to go.

Plenty of other possibilities occurred to me, however, the foremost being some sort of interview. That meant I had to leave the books behind and find someone who was deeply into BDSM. Not such an easy task.

As I told Phoebe, I had begun gathering a lot of literature, starting with the "classics" of the genre, but I soon discovered that most of the high-quality recent works were being published online. That might be the place to start.

I dug Monday's "Daily Bruin" out of the clutter on my desk. In the back, I had circled a small ad in the classifieds: "Meet Friends and Have Fun." It was an advertisement for a local bulletin board system, which I thought might be a more focused place to find someone than trolling on America Online. I wanted to actually meet this person, not chat with them from 3000 miles away.

I turned on my computer and dialed into the number in the ad. Once I was connected and through the sign-up procedure, I began browsing through the system. It had a chat area, where I lurked for a few minutes, not wanting to simply blurt out my idea. Not finding any leads, I wandered into the public forums.

There I found two definite possibilities. One was the "Cybersex" forum, but it was anonymous, and anonymity was not what I had in mind. The other was "The Dungeon," apparently a recent addition, where I found quite a few BDSM-related posts.

I pondered for a moment about what to do. I could simply contact some of these people by e-mail, but I wondered if that were the best way to go about it. I knew enough about the subject to know that people who were really into this lifestyle tended to be clannish and defensive, and did not welcome anyone who could be pegged as a "wannabe" or a dilettante. Writing to them along the lines of "Hi, I'm doing my Master's thesis on BDSM, can we get together for coffee to discuss it?" was bound to trigger defense mechanisms if it didn't piss them off altogether.

So, I thought, why not take a different tack? Instead of seeking my interview subjects directly, why not do something to bring them to me? In "The Dungeon," I had seen quite a few BDSM stories posted by the users. Most of them struck me as amateurish, and though I couldn't pretend to be an expert on BDSM, I thought I could make up the difference with my writing abilities. I liked to write fiction as a hobby and had tried my hand at erotica on a few occasions.

I sat down to write a story that night and came up with something I thought might do. It was very spare, no plot, very little scene description, and virtually no characterization--a stroke story, if you want definitions--but I was still proud of it. I felt like I had achieved a good level of kink, enough to catch people's notice. I mixed in a few traditional elements and a few elements I thought up on my own, things I thought might be fun to try were I really doing something like this.

What's that you say? Too much exposition here? Okay. What follows is the story I posted:

II.

I've been waiting a long time for this night, and when she arrives, I'm ready for her.

She doesn't say a word, she doesn't even look at me, but she follows me down to the dungeon. When we're inside, I bolt the door securely behind us. She stands there waiting, hands folded in front of her, eyes downcast.

I motion to her, and she undresses quickly. In a minute or so, she's naked before me, and I inspect her small, firm body. Her breasts are high and full, a bit too large for her slight frame. Her blonde hair is long and thick, and her eyes are a deep green. Her sex is smooth and bare, plucked clean during our last session.

I hand her the first item, a leather bodysuit, and she steps into it. I help her lace up the back, and just before I pull the hood over her head, I insert two plugs in her ears. I lace up the hood, pulling her hair through a hole in the back, leaving her almost completely covered. Only her mouth, nipples, labia, and buttocks are exposed. I check the fit and then pull the laces tight until she can barely breathe.

Blind and deaf now, I have to lead her to the rack, which lies on the floor. It is constructed from two stainless steel poles, welded together. Wrist and ankle chains hang from the ends, and sturdy nylon straps are attached to bind her arms, legs and torso. I lay her down on it and secure her wrists and ankles, then tighten the straps on her body. Finally, I attach a spreader to each of her hands, so that she cannot even wiggle her fingers.

Above us, on the ceiling, are four eyebolts, spaced for the rack. I attach chains to her ankles and wrists, and lift her into the air. I leave her hanging like that and sit down to wait.

I pause for perhaps five minutes, watching her becoming aroused before I've even started on her. Her nipples erect, her sex gets wet and swollen, and I know her mind is creating far worse perversions than I could ever subject her to. When I decide her anticipation has peaked, I stand and strip, then fetch the solution I've prepared for her: honey and Tabasco sauce. With my finger, I spread it over her nipples, then her clitoris and inner lips, her anus, and finally working a bit inside her.

She moans and writhes in her restraints as the solution starts to bite. I fetch a pear gag and fit it into her mouth to quiet her, strapping it tightly behind her head. I wait a few moments more as the solution continues to work. The wetness is almost running out of her now. I find a dildo for her, the biggest one I have, almost ten inches long and two-and-a-half inches thick. I slather the honey-Tabasco mixture generously over it and slip it into her. She gasps and strains as she tries to accept it, and soon I have it all the way in. I buckle it to her bodysuit and fetch another dildo for her ass. I smear the mixture over that one as well and thrust it in. Then I buckle it to the other dildo and her bodysuit.

She's writhing piteously now as the solution heats up her insides, thrusting her hips, vainly seeking some release. I ignore her and attach a chained set of clips to her nipples and clitoris. She begins to whimper at the pain of it all, but she's not fooling me.

I watch her for a minute or so, and then fetch a riding crop and a feather. I begin to tickle her nipples with the feather, and when I see her react, I smack her nipple with the riding crop. I continue like that for several minutes, tickling and smacking her, irregularly so she can't anticipate anything. Tickling for a while, then smacking her once, tickling a bit more then smacking her repeatedly. I keep it up until her nipples are red and swollen.

I put down the feather and crop and get my cat o'nine-tails. I swing it under her, stinging her buttocks with it. She twitches, reacting as much as she can in her restraints, and I hit her again. I'm careful to keep my distance, so only the ends hit her tender buttocks, stinging her painfully as I snap it against her. I continue with this a little longer, watching the welts rise on her pale skin, until her buttocks are a mass of red flesh.

Finally, I move to her clit. I use only the riding crop now, smacking her carefully, watching her start with the pain. She's getting close now, the pain and arousal nearly peaking. I unstrap the dildo in her sex, and begin working it in and out of her as I smack her clitoris. I keep it up until she's nearly on the edge of orgasm, then stop abruptly.

She whimpers in frustration and bucks her hips at me. I twist the dildo a bit, then stop, then twist it a bit more. She writhes, trying to thrust against it, but she can barely move. Finally, I pull the dildo out of her slowly.

I can see her tense up with anticipation, knowing that she knows what's next, but I wait, even though I'm painfully erect by this point. I take the remainder of the solution and spread it over my penis. It begins to burn immediately, and my erection leaps forward, swelling even further, but I force myself to wait. When she starts to moan in frustration again, I step over to her.

I place the head of my penis into her. She's as wet as a river, and so aroused the penetration is enough to set her off. She convulses in the rack, the spasms rolling over her as I thrust savagely in and out of her. Another orgasm hits her, but I'm not even close to coming. I hear her screaming around the pear gag, and her muscles clamp onto me. I take her hips in my hands and pull her toward me, swinging her back and forth as I ram my cock into her. She's taken by yet a third climax, and her convulsions finally do it for me. Groaning out loud, I spurt away helplessly inside her, filling her, squirting my come as deeply as I can get. At last, I collapse on top of her, and we swing slowly together in aftermath.

III.

The reaction to that story, as might be expected, was intense. Among the first pieces of mail I got was from a woman who claimed to have tried out the honey-Tabasco concoction with her vibrator and found it quite arousing.

I was horrified. What had I done here? For all I knew, something like that could cause a massive infection. But amongst the other mail, I also got what I had hoped for:

Whew! So, um (dare I ask) are you free for the weekend? =) Be very, very hard to top that one. I really enjoyed it. Great work!

The letter was from someone named "Sleeping Beauty." Intrigued, I browsed her profile in the matchmaker area. It described her as 5' 6", 120lbs, with blonde hair. A lot of the selections were blank, but she filled in some others with things like, "I like to experiment" and "I'm looking for someone with an open mind whom I can trust."

I thought I could guess where she had gotten her handle, and that was a good sign that she was the sort of person I was looking for. I spent a minute or two wondering what, exactly, she meant by what she had said. It could have been construed as a proposition, but I figured she was just being facetious, especially since we didn't know a thing about each other. Better to act like that and not risk offending her if she was just joking. If I had to make friends with her before suggesting a meeting, that wasn't really a problem. I wrote back, thanking her for her comments, and jocularly suggesting that I might need her help for future inspiration.

I saw her online the next night. She paged me with a simple "Hi," before I got a chance to do it myself. I went into the chat area and found her sitting there.

"Hey."

"That was quite a story you posted."

"Thanks."

"Are you into BDSM?"

"I don't have a lot of experience with it, frankly, but I'm working on it."

"Working on it? =)"

"In a manner of speaking. I've done a lot of reading but not much else."

"Oh. Well, I enjoyed that story."

"Thanks. I'm guessing from your handle that you're into it yourself."

"Yep."

"Heavily?"

"What's heavily?"

"Have you done stuff like that story?"

"Sure. Not exactly like it, but similar."

"I haven't, but I'm trying to explore it."

"<Grin> You said you were looking for inspiration."

"I am. But I didn't mean that as a proposition, if you took it that way."

"I did, but that's okay. If you sincerely want to learn, there's nothing wrong with saying so. What I don't like is people who pretend to be interested but are really just looking to pass judgment on all of it."

I spent about an hour chatting with her, though the subject quickly moved on from BDSM. I didn't want to push the issue, nor did I feel like I needed to, since I had nine months to get my thesis done. A few days to gain this woman's trust wouldn't be a problem.

She eventually left and logged off, but I saw her again the next afternoon, again meeting her in the chat area.

"I've been thinking about your need for inspiration," she said a few minutes later.

"And?"

"Feel like meeting for coffee?"

Luckily I was online, and she couldn't see my rush of anticipation.

"Sure. Where do you live?"

"Santa Monica."

"I live in Westwood. That's not too far away."

"Do you know the place next to the Mann Bruin?"

"Yeah."

"That's nice and public, so neither of us will feel threatened =)."

"Good idea LOL. How will I recognize you?"

"I'm about 5' 6", nice build, blonde hair. I'll be wearing jeans, a black tank top, and a denim jacket. What about you?"

"I'm six feet, kind of thin, brown hair. I'm wearing a blue button-down shirt."

"When do you want to do it?"

"Now?"

"LOL, okay. It will take me about fifteen minutes to get there."

"I'll just walk over and wait. That way you can just keep going if you see me first and find me disgusting."

"LOL, I'd never do that. I'll see you in a few."

I lived two blocks from UCLA with a friend of mine, a guy I had met through my fraternity. We were both Sig Eps, but I had been undergraduate at UC Berkeley while he was at UCLA. When I came down here to start grad school, I asked around and someone had introduced us. My roommate's name was Ted, and he was an Asian guy who was getting his Ph.D. in Linguistics. Since we were both quiet, studious types, we had gotten along pretty well so far.

I walked up the street into Westwood Village. I found the coffee shop, feeling like I was fifteen and on a first date. I kept telling myself that this was just for my thesis, but that line was beginning to ring hollow. I hadn't picked the subject just because it seemed intellectually intriguing.

I didn't see anyone who matched her description sitting there, so I got a table inside and waited. For ten minutes, I watched every woman who even walked past the place. I saw one girl who might have fit the bill, but she didn't even slow down as she walked past. I got a cup of coffee, still watching the door. Nothing.

I wondered if she were standing me up. It had now been about twenty-five minutes since I had talked to her. Then I saw a blonde- haired girl approaching the shop. She walked straight to the door, opened it, and began glancing around. Two seconds later, our eyes met.

She was about 5' 6", as she had said, and definitely cute. She had a sort of exotic, fine-featured cast to her face and either blue or green eyes--I couldn't quite tell from the lighting. Her hair was medium blonde and very long, almost down to the middle of her back.

She walked up to the table, smiling.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"I never thought to ask your name."

"Danny."

"I'm Danielle."

"Interesting."

"Yeah."

As she sat down, I noticed she wore about six or eight silver rings on her fingers--and a silver stud through her left nostril. Then I noticed the six or seven earrings she wore on the same side. After that, I wasn't too surprised to see the stud in her tongue. Jesus, she had a lot of jewelry on. I wondered if she had more I couldn't necessarily see.

"I'm sorry I'm late. There was more traffic than I expected."

"It's okay. I've just been drinking my coffee."

"Mind if I get some?"

"Go ahead."

She got up, and I tried not to leer. Her legs were not long, but her behind was very nice. After getting an espresso, she came back to the table and sat down.

"You're nothing like what I imagined," she said.

I laughed.

"What did you imagine?"

"Something a little less clean-cut. I kind of pictured you with a goat."

Confused images of bestiality spun through my head.

"A what?"

"A goatee."

"Oh. Sorry. Is that bad?"

"No. Because I know more about you than what I might have guessed if we met on the street."

"I wasn't sure what to imagine you as."

"What did you think?"

"Well, I browsed your profile. I guess you're not too far from what I imagined."

She smiled.

"I keep thinking about that story of yours. What got me about it is that the girl you described sounded so much like me."

I glanced over her again, realizing she was right, even down to the eye color: green as I now could see.

"Yeah. Wow. Weirdness."

"Really. So I definitely got into it."

"Someone wrote me saying they had tried out the honey-Tabasco mixture."

She laughed again.

"Where the hell did you come up with that one?"

"I don't know. I was trying to think of some kind of concoction that would cause a burning sensation."

"It might work. I'm intrigued now."

"I won't embarrass myself by offering to help."

She grinned, tossing her hair back.

"You know, I have a hard time believing you don't have any experience with BDSM, given that story."

"Well, I haven't acted out any of it, but I'm doing my Master's thesis on BDSM erotica."

She leaned back, impressed.

"Wow. Are you really?"

"Yeah."

"What have you read?"

"I'm starting out with 'the classics' I'd guess you'd call them, de Sade, Sacher-Masoch, 'The Story of "O,"' that sort of stuff, plus the Anne Rice books. But there's so much more out there than I anticipated."

She nodded.

"Yeah, there is. I could recommend some stuff if you want."

"That would be a big help."

"I'll make you a list and e-mail it."

"Thanks. But I'm also trying to do some fieldwork in the subject."

She grinned, and her eyebrows went up.

"Fieldwork?"

"Not like that exactly. I don't know anybody who is into BDSM, so I'm trying to find a way into the subculture so I can really understand it. You can't get a complete understanding from just reading books, even if the books are the center of my thesis."

Understanding spread over her face as she realized what I was saying.

"And that's where I come in?"

"I don't mean it that clinically. I do want to get to know you. But I also want to get to know BDSM."

"Okay."

"But, just to be clear, I'm not proposing that we run off to some dungeon this afternoon."

She laughed.

"Don't worry about that. It's not something I would just up and do. You have to get a long way into a relationship before you trust someone enough for that."

"I know. I understand that much. I just want to be clear that I'm not trying to conceal some attempt to get you into bed under false academic pretenses."

"So your interest in me is purely academic?"

I squirmed for a moment.

"Uh, I didn't mean it that way."

She laughed again.

"Okay. This intrigues me. But the first thing you have to do is lighten up. BDSM is really just about sex, fun, kinky sex, but still sex. Don't get so serious about it or you aren't going to get it."

I grinned.

"Get sex or get BDSM?"

She returned the smile.

"Either."

"Gotcha."

"Okay. So, fire away. What do you want to ask me?"

"Well, I don't want this to be a formal interview. Why don't you just tell me what you're into. You mentioned about needing to trust someone first."

"Yeah. I am kinky, but that doesn't mean I want to get raped. I like submission, but I can't do it if it's not someone I trust. Without the trust, I can't let go enough to get into my fantasy."

"You're not a dominatrix, or whatever it's called?"

"'Dominant' is really the better term, but no. I mean, I've done that a few times, just to play around, but it does nothing for me. It's too much work. See, that's one thing that straights, people who aren't kinky, don't really understand. The power issues are so much more complex than they appear on the surface. The 'dominant' person isn't necessarily the one who's in charge. There are a lot of women who do that professionally, dominate men for money. It's not prostitution, because sex is rarely involved, but the man is paying for it. Who do you think is really calling the shots?"

"Hard to say. All depends on how you look at it, I guess."

"Yeah. And even though I really get off on being submissive, I could never do it with a someone who thought they were taking complete control, who thought they could do whatever they wanted with me. That's not what it's about. It's about knowing your limits and exploring them, not a complete surrender. If I can't trust that they'll stop when I give them my safe word, I can't get into the fantasy in the first place."

"That makes sense."

"I mean, to put things in perspective, I've occasionally slept with men I've just met, but I could never get kinky with someone like that. If I've let the person tie me up very securely, all I have is my safe word to get me loose. Suppose I do that and they say no? I've just set myself up to get raped. If there's even a slight concern about that in my mind, I won't even get started."

Something in what she said clicked in my head.

"I notice that your descriptions seem to be gender-neutral."

She smiled.

"You're observant."

"You've been submissive with men and women?"

"Sure. A lot of submissives are bisexual. Don't ask me why."

It went on like that for at least an hour. We got a second round of coffee--always a good sign in a coffeeshop date--before she had to go.

"Um, I might be reaching here, but are you doing anything tonight?"

She smiled.

"Maybe. What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know. I just thought we could hang out somewhere. Wherever it is you like to hang out."

"Have you ever heard of Club Fuck?"

"No. Is it a fetish club?"

"Yes. Just the place you ought to go if you're sincerely interested in BDSM. I was going with one of my friends tonight. We could meet there."

I couldn't help grinning.

"Um, should we consider this a date or a study session?"

"What do you want?"

"I'd rather it be a date. A date on which I can learn something, but still a date."

She smiled again.

"Okay. A date it is."

"So where is this place?"

She drew me a map on a napkin.

"I suppose it's safe to assume you don't have any fetish outfits."

"No."

"Do you have anything black? Like black slacks and a black shirt? Because if you show up like you are now, they'll never let you in."

"I have some black slacks."

"You should go get a shirt to go with it. Silk or rayon, something slinky, you know?"

"I almost feel like I should ask your help with this. I'm afraid I would screw things up on my own."

She laughed and glanced at her watch.

"Okay. I'm supposed to meet a friend of mine at four, but fuck it. She can wait. But let's be quick about this."

She led me out of the coffeeshop and down the street to a nearby clothing store. We browsed for a few minutes before finding a black silk shirt I liked. I bought it, and she prepared to take off.

"Meet us out front, say around ten?"

"Okay. See you then."

"Not going to chicken out on me, are you?"

"No. My intentions are genuine."

"Cool. See ya."

She gave me a final smile and walked off.

IV.

I returned to my apartment and found Ted watching television.

"What's up? Where'd you go?"

"I got a date tonight."

"With who?"

"Some chick I met on this BBS."

"Seriously? Have you even met her yet?"

"We had coffee this afternoon. We're going to go out again tonight."

"Huh. Hot or not?"

"Hot. About 5' 6", long blonde hair."

His eyebrows went up slightly.

"You met a girl like that on a computer?"

"Yeah. And guess where we're going."

"Where?"

"This place called Club Fuck."

He laughed.

"Club Fuck?"

"Yeah. Heard of it?"

"No. What is it, some sex club?"

"I'm not sure. I think it's more of an S&M-themed nightclub. Everyone dresses up for it apparently."

"You're going to dress up like that?"

"Not really. Just this."

I showed him the shirt.

"Damn. Maybe I should start BBSing."

Ted and I walked over to the Village for dinner at Burger King, then drifted down the street to our usual bar. We met some students we knew and hung with them for about an hour, but I left to get ready about nine.

I found Club Fuck on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood. The place was mobbed, cars double-parked in the street unloading people, dozens of patrons in leather and bondage outfits milling around on the sidewalk, bouncers trying to direct traffic in the parking lot. It took me about fifteen minutes to find a parking place around the corner, and I walked up wondering how I was ever going to find Danielle amongst the crowd of people waiting.

As it happened, she found me.

"Danny!"

I turned to see two girls walking toward me, and it took me a second or two before I realized one of them was Danielle. She wore some kind of bondage harness, which began at her neck with a narrow leather collar. An inch-wide strap descended between her breasts, where she wore a studded leather bra. It kept going down her abdomen, where silver chains hung on both sides, presumably wrapping around her torso to attach to another strap in back. After passing the silver ring in her navel, the strap finally connected to a narrow leather panty. Under the harness, she also wore a leather garter belt, which attached to a set of black stockings. On her feet, she wore black spike heels, the straps of which wrapped around her calves several times. Her hair was loose, brushed out into a long blonde cascade, and she wore quite a bit of makeup--a lot more than she had that afternoon- -the most striking element being her blood-red lipstick.

I felt my heart pounding my chest as she approached. Good God-- so much for academic objectivity. I was going to have difficulty doing anything tonight besides ogle this girl.

Her friend was Latina, a little shorter and a little more plump. She wore a leather corset over her ample chest and tight leather pants. I noticed as they reached me that Danielle had attached a leash to the collar of her harness.

"Hey!"

"Hi."

"You look presentable. That shirt looks good."

"Thanks. That's quite an outfit you've got on."

"You like it? Thanks. This is Marisa."

I shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you."

Danielle played teasingly with the end of her leash for a second.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

She turned around and led me toward the door. The leather panty she had on turned out to be a thong, and I saw some sort of rune tattooed on her shoulder. She and Marisa squirmed through the crowd, and I tried to follow. Danielle called to the doorman, who greeted her and let us in. After paying the cover, I found myself inside.

I couldn't take it all in at once. So many sensations--visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile--instantly assaulted me that it took long moments to regain enough equilibrium to sort them out. What did I see? Darkness, at first. Black leather, black latex, corsets, dog collars, fishnet stockings, sheer tops, spike heels. No silly pretensions of modesty--bare flesh, male and female, abounded. A woman walked past me wearing little more above her waist than a set of nipple clips. Numerous men were being led around on their hands and knees by female companions. The room was dark and crowded enough that it was like a great churning mass of flesh and fetishistic adornments.

Slowly I became aware of other elements. Over the pounding music, I could sense moans and sighs of pleasure from the crowd. Not that anything overtly sexual was occurring--mere existence in this place seemed enough to arouse.

The air was heavy and humid with sweat and cigarette smoke, spiced with the occasional aroma of musky perfume. The aura of the club filled me with a vast buzzing energy of sensations and imagery.

I realized Danielle was nudging me.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh . . . yeah."

I tried to slow my breathing down.

"You look like you're about to faint."

"I'll be okay. Just give me a minute."

"I know this is a lot to take at first."

"Is there anything I should be doing? Like with the two of you?"

She laughed.

"No, just be cool. Just try to enjoy yourself."

"Okay. I will."

I tried to blend in and not gape too much, but no one was paying me much attention anyway. Anyone who looked in our direction--and quite a few did--invariably focused on Danielle.

I regained enough of a grip on myself to buy Danielle and Marisa a round of drinks. Danielle led us around, occasionally glancing at me to check my reactions. I had, by this time, an enormous erection, and I hoped Danielle didn't notice it.

"This is pretty wild, huh?"

"You could say that."

"See anything you like?"

"Well . . . nobody who looks as good as you do."

She grinned.

"Good answer. But I meant the outfits."

"I had no idea there were so many ways of dressing up."

She laughed again.

"Want to hold the leash?"

She handed it to me, and another thrill coursed through me. I had just met this girl that afternoon, and here I was holding her at the end of a leash. I had to close my eyes for a second and think of rotting fish, hospital waiting rooms, and my grandmother. Had Danielle grabbed my crotch at that moment--admittedly unlikely--I think I might well have come in my pants.

A minute later, we ran into someone they knew, a tall, black- haired woman in her late thirties or early forties, dressed in a tight corset and carrying a riding crop.

They exchanged a quick peck on the cheek, and the woman then looked me up and down.

"Found yourself a new master, Danielle?"

Danielle laughed.

"No, he's just a friend. So far, anyway." She grinned at me. "This is Danny. Danny, this is Mistress Rebecca."

I shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Mistress."

"And you. This is quite a little submissive you have here. If you plan on keeping her, you'll need to exercise a firm hand."

"I kind of get that idea."

She narrowed her eyes at me, smiling.

"This is new to you, I gather."

"It is."

Danielle continued grinning at me.

"He has a lot of potential, though, don't you think?"

"Well, he's certainly attractive. About the rest, who can tell? Are you sure you want to start off as a top, Danny? I think I might be able to handle your training more effectively than she can."

Danielle and Marisa both laughed out loud.

"I think he'd look good on his knees," Marisa said. "Don't you?"

I laughed with them, beginning to get into the atmosphere.

"I think that may have to wait, but we'll see."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Danielle said.

"What do you do, Danny?"

"I'm going to UCLA. Grad school."

"He's getting a Master's degree," Danielle said, and the three of them all laughed. I didn't get the joke for a second or two, then grinned in embarrassment.

Mistress Rebecca smiled.

"Are you really? Well, I suppose we'll see about that."

We milled around for about an hour with Mistress Rebecca. Danielle introduced me to a few more people she knew, but eventually I convinced her to sit down with me near the dance floor. Marisa remained nearby talking to another dominant but left us alone.

"So what do you think?" she asked me. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"I'm getting into this."

"It's nothing really bizarre. For most people, this is just role-playing, a chance to be someone else. Even people who think of themselves as naturally dominant or submissive aren't like this twenty- four hours a day. I mean, it's not like I go to work looking like this."

I laughed.

"God, I hope not."

"I don't think it's any different than preferring a particular position or wanting to dress up like a cheerleader or something like that."

"Do people who are dominant start off submissive, like Mistress Rebecca was saying? Do you have to accumulate so many points at that before moving on to the next rank?"

She smiled.

"It's not that formalized, but I think it does help. To be a good Dom, you have to really understand submission. Some people can do that naturally, some can't. And plenty of people switch back and forth, especially in long-term relationships. But no one is going to compel you to take one role or another. You might think about it. Like I said, don't knock it if you haven't tried it. Don't close yourself off."

"So what is it like? Being submissive?"

She took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair. She tried to stifle a grin.

"Okay. Like I told you, I have to trust the person completely, because in order to get anything out of it, I have to totally let myself go. I imagine myself as this helpless toy in someone else's hands. That I exist solely for their pleasure, and he or she can do anything they want to me. I just wallow in this feeling of sexual helplessness."

"Just helplessness?"

"Well, not just that. You have to understand that there has to be a relationship in place before you get that far. The dominant and submissive really have to know and understand each other. You can almost think of the submissive as a musical instrument the dominant is playing. To do that effectively, he or she has to understand what I get off on and what my limits are. What they can play with and how. A good Dom can string you along for hours, taking you to the brink repeatedly until you're just this mass of overstimulated nerves, until you can't differentiate pain and pleasure anymore. It's a high like nothing else."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to keep my erection from contacting any part of my pants. Good God, when was the last time I had been this turned on? I took a breath to steady myself.

"And that's what you get off on?"

"Yes, but don't forget that the Dom gets off on it too, playing with the sub and pushing their limits. He or she will get as wound up as I will if they're truly into this. After a good session, we'll both be completely exhausted."

"I can see that. I guess all those endorphins can get addictive."

"Definitely. So, answer a question for me. What do you think you get off on? Put yourself in that scenario."

"Being submissive?"

"Either or. It doesn't matter. Plenty of men get off on being submissive, but just as many don't."

I ran through the story I had written, putting Danielle into the place of the girl, but dressed like she was now, instead of how I had written it. The rush I got from it startled me.

I noticed Danielle glance at my crotch, grinning. She laughed.

"Does that put the lead in your pencil, professor?"

I blushed, despite myself.

"Yes."

Marisa dragged us onto the dance floor a few minutes later, and I moved around with her and Danielle. After we had been out there a while, another woman dressed as a submissive (I was beginning to recognize what was what) began dancing with Danielle. She was probably about thirty, brown-haired, thin, dressed in a sheer top, a very short miniskirt and black stockings. Her master (I guessed that was who he was, at least), stood behind her, watching. Danielle glanced at me, smiled slyly, and handed me her leash again. Then the two women moved closer together.

The other man grinned at me, and I tried to maintain my composure. Danielle and the other woman danced closer and closer, smiling at each other and touching lightly. A hand here, a stroke there. The woman glanced back at her master, and he motioned her forward. She moved even closer to Danielle, trying to kiss her. Danielle responded coyly, not reacting right away, glancing at me once. Then she turned back and let the other woman kiss her.

As I watched, heart pounding in my chest and erection burning in my pants, the two women embraced. The other woman kissed Danielle deeply, obviously frenching her. Then she moved down, kissing Danielle's neck. Danielle laughed, holding the other woman's head as she continued downward. She paused to fondle Danielle's breasts over her bra, then to lick her abdomen, finally kneeling at Danielle's feet. She extended her tongue and licked Danielle over her panties.

Danielle laughed again, letting the woman lick her for a few seconds before pulling her up again. She kissed her a final time before turning away, using the leash to pull herself toward me.

The woman's master moved next to us, and the woman stared at me lasciviously, licking her lips.

"Care to get together? Maybe we could let them continue this in private."

It took me a second or two to answer him.

"You'd have to ask her. She's really just a friend."

"I see."

He turned to Danielle.

"Interested?"

Danielle hugged my arm.

"I'm with him tonight. We're just having fun."

"Okay. Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

The two of them moved off, the woman giving Danielle one last leer. When they were gone, Danielle laughed at me.

"Oh, God. I wish you could have seen your face."

"I'm sorry. That was just a shock."

"I know. But you're doing better."

V.

We finally left around one, and I followed them out to Danielle's car.

"Want to go some place else?" she asked.

"Sure. But where?"

I wasn't sure what to suggest, since we could hardly go to Denny's the way the two of them were dressed.

"I'm kind of tired," Marisa said. "Plus I have to be at work at ten."

"Okay. Let me take Marisa home. Just follow me. I'll go home and change, then maybe we could go get something to eat."

"Sounds good."

I found my car and followed her back up Santa Monica. She turned off the boulevard a few miles down, and dropped Marisa off at a squat gray apartment building near Century City. I returned Marisa's wave as she went inside, then I followed Danielle back to Santa Monica. She lived in another apartment building a few blocks from the cliff.

I sat outside while she changed, and she emerged about ten minutes later in jeans and a baby T-shirt, exposing her navel-ring. Yesterday, I would have been attracted to such an outfit, but having seen her in fetish clothes, she suddenly seemed distressingly normal. The buzz I had gotten from Club Fuck had yet to fade, and I didn't want to let go of it yet.

"Where to?"

"There's a diner a few blocks up, by the Third Street Promenade."

I followed her directions, and we got a table by the window.

"Tell me something," I said after we placed our orders.

"What?"

"Does that happen a lot? Like with that woman on the dance floor?"

"Did that turn you on?"

I fought a grin.

"Just answer the question."

"It happens. But please tell me you could tell we were just having fun."

"Yeah. I think I understand that much. You heard the guy with her asking if I wanted to 'continue this in private?'"

"Yes. I wouldn't have done it unless I knew them better, and you, for that matter."

"But does that kind of thing happen?"

"Sure. But it happens in all kinds of bars, right? You've picked up girls like that, haven't you?"

I grinned.

"Well, I've certainly tried."

"It's pretty much the same. Only the dress and lingo are different. And it's not like I get picked up every time I go there, any more than I do at any other kind of bar."

"Right, but still . . . "

"Okay. I think I see what your problem is. You don't understand why some guy would be offering his girlfriend the way that guy was. What makes you think it wasn't her idea? Her fantasy is probably to be treated like a sex object and led into random encounters with other women the way he was doing for her. Why else would she be doing that?"

"I didn't think of that. Good point."

"This is what I keep trying to tell you. The 'dominant' person isn't necessarily the one in charge. I mean, look at us tonight. You had me on a leash, but I was the one leading you around."

The memory of having her on the end of that leash gave me another rush. She noticed, smiling at me, but continued with her explanation.

"What confuses a lot of straights is that BDSM fiction is so divorced from reality. It's so full of these helpless men and women being kidnapped and carried off to some dungeon for a lifetime of submission and sexual servitude. What so many people can't seem to understand is that all that is just a fantasy. Nobody lives like that, at least no one I've ever met. God knows I don't want it, but I still devour that stuff because the fantasy is so powerful for me. What I do enjoy doing is pretending to do all that with someone I trust. Pretending. That's the key. I get to enter this fantasy in a safe, consensual environment. I can be a helpless slave one night and go back to my regular life the next morning."

"I can see I've got a lot of work ahead of me."

"Well, it's not as complicated as all that. I think if you analyze it too much, you just wring the fun out of it."

I laughed.

"If I don't analyze this, I need to come up with a different thesis topic."

She grinned.

"Okay. Well analyze what you want, just remember what I said about keeping it fun and enjoyable."

We were there about an hour longer, flirting and joking about the things she had shown me that night. I finally took her home around three. I had calmed down enough by then that I didn't need to masturbate to get to sleep, as I had feared.

I wanted to, though.

VI.

I spent the rest of the weekend digesting the things I had seen and talked about that night. For all of Danielle's dismissals of the complications, I could see that Professor Larson was right. I did have a challenging task ahead of me. What I had to do was more than simply understand what BDSM was about. I had to take it apart.

The bane of many a graduate student in the humanities these days is the analytical process that has come to be known as semiotics. Traditional Western literary analysis has tended to focus on the facial characteristics of a particular work, what the author was trying to say and what symbolism he was employing. In the 1960's and 1970's, coinciding with the political revolutions that were occurring at the time, literature analysis underwent a similar upheaval. Gone were the days when anything could be taken at face value. The semiologists' most important insight was the power of language--that words carried meaning and message beyond the dictionary definition, and that the choice of words often reflected the author's cultural preconceptions and biases. Since (among many other trends) this allowed radical critics to do things like take apart the writings of the Founding Fathers to show that they were actually defending Western patriarchy-- and not "freedom"--semiotics became very popular in leftist academia.

This is a gross simplification, but it gets the idea across. I, as a graduate student pursuing a Master's in English Lit, was becoming thoroughly immersed in these concepts. One of the books I had studied the previous quarter ("S/Z" by Roland Barthes) is a dismantling of a short story by French author Honore de Balzac. The story is called "Sarrasine," and is about a Frenchman who goes to Rome and falls in love with what he thinks is a beautiful opera singer. He does not discover, until he has thoroughly embarrassed and humiliated himself, that he has actually fallen in love with a castrato.

One of the signifiers (a semiotic term, best understood as a word that helps define other words) that Barthes identifies in this story is castration. Through his deconstruction of Balzac's prose, he shows how the concept infects the entire work, emasculating most of the characters in the story.

My stated objective to Phoebe Larson was to employ these semiotic tools to deconstruct BDSM erotica--to get at the heart of what it meant, and what it said about the BDSM subculture and its relationship with society. After spending the evening with Danielle at Club Fuck, I felt like I was pointed in the right direction, but I still had no clue about what my thesis was going to be.

I had finished "The Story of 'O'" and "Justine" a few days before, so I spent most of Sunday reading the three "Sleeping Beauty" books. Some of it I found arousing, but other parts, like the endless flagellation and particularly the male-male stuff, didn't do much for me. It did seem as if Rice were running the gamut of kink, trying to hit just about every conceivable quirk her readers might be into. I kept picturing Danielle in the role of Beauty, partly because they seemed to look alike, but also because I could definitely imagine her getting off on being in Beauty's predicament--well, just as a fantasy, I reminded myself. Right?

What was it that I was not getting? What I saw in the "Beauty" books seemed a mirror image of what I had experienced that night at Club Fuck. Consent and coercion, domination and submission. The treatment of those concepts in the books did not match their treatment in real life. It wasn't enough to just call the ideas fantasy; it went beyond that. It was a mirror image--a reflection, but a reversed one. Did that mean something? Was there some essential signifier, like castration, that I wasn't seeing here?

I couldn't quite get a grip on it, but my creative juices had begun to stir. Analyzing this wasn't enough; I had to live it. But living it maybe included more than hanging out at "Club Fuck." So Danielle was into BDSM erotica. Her attraction to my first story had made that obvious enough. Why not, I thought, write her another one?

So I did.

VII.

Two months past her eighteenth birthday, Elizabeth Maria Katarina von Baden, eldest daughter of the seventh Margrave of Baden, was sent from her home to the Duchy of Wurttemburg, where she was to marry the newly crowned Duke, a man whom she had never met. She was accompanied by her two attendants, several other servants, and a squad of her father's guardsman, and rode in an ornate golden carriage drawn by four white stallions.

It was a journey she did not complete.

Elizabeth was a proud girl and felt she had every right to be. Her beauty was renowned (indeed, it had been what drew the Duke's interest) and she knew every man she met desired her. She stood perhaps five feet and seven inches in height, with long blonde hair and green eyes. Her figure was eye-catching and voluptuous without losing its proportion. She spent many hours admiring her firm breasts and smooth buttocks in her mirror, almost resentful at the idea that she would one day have to allow her husband to paw at and drool over them. Well, she might allow him, but never so often to let him take her for granted. If he wanted her, he would have to earn her. She would often stroke between her legs when she admired herself in this fashion, imagining the life of power and influence that awaited her.

She left her father's castle with her entourage early that morning. They traveled most of the day without incident.

Near three of the clock, as she rode in the carriage and tried to fight the boredom of the journey, she heard sudden shouts and cries of pain. The carriage lurched to a halt. Greta and Karin, her two attendants, glanced around in concern.

Elizabeth looked out the window of the carriage to discover a fearful sight: their party was under attack. Arrows whistled out of the trees around them, striking down her father's guardsmen. They ran about seeking cover, but in moments, all seemed to have fallen.

Elizabeth smacked on the roof of the carriage.

"Why are we stopped? Get us moving at once!"

No response came. As her attendants continued to whimper, Elizabeth stuck her head out of the window. She looked up at the driver's seat, where she saw the man with an arrow in his chest, dead.

Men in black leather armor were emerging from the forest, carrying longbows. Elizabeth withdrew into the carriage, drawing the shades and trying hold the door shut. A moment later, the door handle was torn from her grasp. Two of the men glanced in.

"They're here!" one of them cried.

Elizabeth huddled in the back of the carriage with Greta and Karin. A tall masked man approached the carriage and leaned inside. He regarded the three women with cold blue eyes, but it was clear to Elizabeth who he was interested in.

"Remove her. Do you what you will with the others but do not harm her."

The two men reached into the carriage, grabbing Elizabeth's arms. Though she kicked and scratched at them, she could not stop them from dragging her out of the carriage. One holding each arm, they set her on her feet in front of the masked man.

"Do you know who I am?" she screeched. "You will all hang for this!"

Rather than responding, the man slapped her to the ground. Shocked to her core, she held her cheek and glared up at him.

"You will learn the proper respect, girl." He looked up at his men. "Bind her and place her in my carriage."

The two men produced a length of rope and swiftly tied Elizabeth hand and foot. Then they carried her back down the road where she saw a black carriage emerging from the trees. She kicked and squirmed against their grip but could not get free.

Behind her, she heard the shrieks of Karin and Greta as they were pulled from the carriage. Elizabeth knew they would probably be raped but could not bring herself to care. Her own predicament was far worse.

The two men set Elizabeth in the black carriage and tied her securely to her seat. The masked man climbed in a moment later, and the carriage began to move. She heard the hoofbeats of his retainers' horses as they fell in behind them.

Elizabeth glared at the man, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of begging for her freedom. But she continued to struggle against her bonds, though to no avail.

The man smiled.

"You think me an evil person?"

She spat at him.

"You are a kidnapper and a rapist. Your acts speak for themselves."

"It is but a matter of perspective. Your pride resists this now, but you will learn."

"My father will not rest until he has found me. Nor will the Duke."

He chuckled.

"You will not be found."

She spat at him again. The man calmly wiped the spittle from his mask, then leaned over toward her. He took the bodice of her gown in both hands and ripped it apart, suddenly exposing her full breasts. She screeched in outrage and tried once again to free herself. It was no good--she was bound too tightly. All she did was make her breasts shake and quiver for his amusement. Her face and chest began to burn in mortification. No man in the world had gazed upon her breasts until this moment. She had planned to make her husband pay for the privilege, yet here she was exposed to a perfect stranger with nothing to be done about it.

He smiled.

"Think upon your predicament during our journey."

Though she continued to struggle, he said nothing more.

They rode long into the night. Though her breasts grew cold in the night air, she would not debase herself further by begging him to cover her. Near dawn, the carriage finally slowed, then stopped. The man opened the door to the carriage and stepped out.

"Bring her inside."

Elizabeth suddenly froze in horror. He was not going to cover her against the gaze of his men!

"Sir!" she snarled. "If you have one ounce of decency, you will not allow me out of this carriage in this state."

He leaned back inside, smiling.

"I expose you to my men because it amuses me to do so. Your concerns are not relevant."

She closed her eyes and tried to steel herself. She felt his men climbing into the carriage and heard their chuckles at her exposure. They carried her out and set her on her feet.

She opened her eyes and saw a castle before her. The masked man's retainers were all around her, gazing at her naked breasts and snickering to each other. She straightened her back and stared forward, not meeting their lascivious glances.

With the masked man leading, the two men at her sides carried her into the castle. They passed through the deserted main hall, weapons and trophies on display, and down a broad hallway. The man opened an ironbound wooden door and the retainers followed. The door led to a staircase, which led down into the dungeon.

Elizabeth cried out again.

"Sir! I entreat you! I will not be treated like a common criminal!"

He ignored her cries. The men carried her past a long row of cells, then into a broad straw-covered area set out with torture implements. Elizabeth's resolve weakened as she regarded the rows of whips and clamps that hung on the walls.

As the masked man watched, his retainers untied her, though they kept a firm grip. She struggled to get free as they did so, but they were far stronger than she. Finally, as one man held her hands above her head, the other locked her wrists into a set of manacles hanging from the ceiling. Then they turned and left the dungeon, shutting the door behind them.

Elizabeth panted against her agitation, pulling on the manacles.

"I have no intention of treating you like a common criminal," the man said. "I intend to treat you like my most precious possession."

"Sir, I am the possession of no man."

"You think not? And on what do you base this conclusion? You are here in my dungeon, held without the knowledge of anyone who might rescue you. My men are loyal, not in the least because they enjoy the fringe benefits of my work. As we speak, your attendants are entertaining the lot of them. I may do with you as I wish, and none will stop me. I think that defines the concept of a possession."

"Sir, I beg of you, in the name of God and of common decency."

"Neither of which hold sway in my domain. In here, I am your God. You will learn that soon enough."

He approached her, and she backed up to the limit of the manacles, which was not nearly far enough. He took the remains of her gown in his hands and tore it from her body, leaving her naked. She whimpered, more in humiliation than anger, and tried to turn herself away from his gaze. He held her arm and regarded her calmly.

"Why do you seek to hide yourself from me? Are you not proud of such endowments?"

Holding one arm to keep her still, he fondled her breasts softly, tweaking and twisting the nipples until they stood out in arousal. She screwed her eyes shut, fighting tears of embarrassment.

He reached between her legs now, and though she screeched again in outrage and tried to twist from his grasp, she could not escape him. He found the swollen bud at the crown of her sex and massaged it gently.

She tried to fight the sensations, but his expert touch soon had the heat growing in her nether regions. Then, abruptly, he stopped and withdrew. He walked to a rack of implements behind him and selected a leather mask. He returned, settling it over her head and lacing it up, leaving her blind.

Her breath came hot and quick now, the fear beginning to rise up against her outrage. A moment later, he was pressing some kind of gag into her mouth and strapping it into place. She whimpered and squirmed, feeling increasingly helpless.

The first crack across her buttocks came as an enormous shock, more out of humiliation than pain. She was a noblewoman, by God, about to marry a Duke! She should not be treated like a common thief!

But as the blows continued--he was using some kind of narrow wooden rod, she thought--the pain began to win out over everything else. Again and again and again he struck her across the buttocks and thighs, not stopping though she whimpered and cried out and sought to turn away from him. Her buttocks were soon a mass of swollen, bruised flesh. Her resolve finally broke, and she sobbed and gasped for breath.

Eventually it was over. She hung against the manacles, no energy left to stand, feeling ragged sobs shaking her body. The welts across her backside throbbed in fiery agony. He touched her lightly, but her skin was so sensitive and swollen that she jumped from the pain.

"You think of this as but raw abuse," he said, "but that is only because you are blinded by pride. It is that pride I must break, and as strong as it is, it will take extreme measures. But think not that pain is all that awaits you."

He reached again between her legs, and this time she was too exhausted and battered to resist him. His fingers probed her sex, and she realized for the first time that she fairly dripped with wetness, with the hot fluids that often came when she pleasured herself before her mirror. His fingers were slick against her and moved adroitly through the sensitive folds. Her head fell backwards, unfamiliar sensations racing through her. All at once, the sensations exploded into a whirlwind inside her, causing her to lose control of her body and thrash against his grip. The pain he had inflicted now suddenly seemed a sort of pleasure, burning with the internal fire he was now summoning. It continued for long seconds before he withdrew.

"Let that serve as your first lesson."

VIII.

I got to that point by Wednesday night. It seemed a long way from being finished, but I wanted to let Danielle see what I had done so far, if for no other reason than to see if I was on the right track. I logged on to the BBS. No Danielle. I wrote a quick note telling her I had been working on something else and wanted to know if she would take a look at it.

I waited for a while after sending the message, but she never appeared. When I got up the next morning, I immediately logged in and checked for a reply. Nothing. She hadn't been online since the previous night.

Since it was Thursday, I had to get to class. Though I thought about Danielle for most of the day, I wasn't able to log back on until that afternoon.

She was there when I did, and paged me immediately.

"Bastard."

For a moment, I was slightly worried. I paged her back.

"What?"

"How could you write a story like that and not finish it? What am I supposed to do now?"

"Sorry. You liked it?"

"I loved it. My God, you scored a direct hit. I guess you were listening to me after all."

"I've been giving this a lot of thought."

"I guess you have."

"But I also realized you were right. There's something about BDSM I don't quite get."

"I think you've got the right idea, at least. Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"You tell me. =)"

"We can't do what we did last week. Club Fuck is only open on Saturdays. It's one of those floating clubs."

"How about a normal date? I don't think I can take Club Fuck twice in a row anyway. I'd really rather just discuss all this with you."

"Fine. Come by my place around eight?"

"Sure."

"So what's going to happen to poor Elizabeth? You have to tell me."

"I don't know yet. I have some more ideas."

"Don't let him have sex with her right away. You have to work up to it."

"I was going to. I was thinking that wouldn't come until the end, sort of as a reward for her adapting to her new role."

"Yes, that's a good idea. He has to break her slowly. She seems too strong to give in right away."

"Right."

"And you made her look like me on purpose, didn't you?"

"Grin. Well, I was writing it for you."

We talked for another two hours or so before I had to log off to eat and do my reading for the next day. But I couldn't stop thinking about Elizabeth and what that essential BDSM signifier was. Eventually I gave up and went back to work on the story.

IX.

Elizabeth awoke on the straw floor of the cell, where he had tossed her the night before. She wore a leather collar, chained to the wall behind her, and was otherwise naked. Her buttocks remained sore, though the swelling had abated somewhat.

She sat up, trying not to dwell on her predicament. She saw a pair of buckets in the front of the cell, one filled with water, the other with kitchen slop. Her stomach growled at the smell of food, but she could not bring herself to eat from a bucket.

She pulled herself up against the rear wall of the cell, wrapping her arms around her knees. Surely this could not last forever. Someone would come to rescue her and punish the masked man for his crimes. At least her virginity was still intact, though she felt sure it was in danger as long as she remained here.

She tugged at the collar, trying to remove it. The buckle was locked, and she could do nothing with it. Bound like a common cur! This was too much!

She heard the dungeon door creaking open, and the man approached. He still wore the same mask, and she could not see much of his face. He was tall and muscular, and had she not met him under such circumstances, she might have thought him handsome. But now all she felt was burning hatred.

"You will pay for this," she said, "whether it takes a day or a decade, you will pay with your life for violating me in this manner."

He chuckled.

"The day will come when you will thank me for this."

"You are mad."

"We shall see. Stand up."

She did not move.

"Stand, or you will be stood. If you like, I can have my men assist me in this."

Not desiring further humiliation before his retainers, she complied, though she covered her breasts and sex with her hands.

"No, no, this will not do. You are still polluted with faulty notions of pride."

He entered the cell and unlocked her from the wall. Taking the chain, he led her back to the torment area. She thought of trying to run, but she felt instinctively that such resistance was what he wanted, since it would give him an excuse to punish her further. This had become a test of wills, and she could at least not give him any pleasure in what he did to her.

He chained her up to the ceiling as she had been the night before, and her new-found resolve began to weaken.

"Sir, my father is very rich. He could pay a large ransom for me. As could the Duke."

"I have all the money I could ever need. It is you I want."

"Please, sir, I beg you. Do not beat me again."

"You misunderstand your role here. This punishment is for your own good. As long as pride infects you, you cannot progress."

This time he did not cover her eyes or her mouth, and she saw him select a leather-covered paddle from the wall. She whimpered and averted her gaze, trying not to think about what he was about to do.

The first blow seared her already bruised flesh and made her cry out in pain. He struck her again and again, swiftly returning her buttocks to the inflamed state he had left them in the night before. Though she danced at the end of her chain and tried to avoid the paddle, his aim was true, and she could not escape him. It went on until she thought she must be bleeding.

He stopped. She hung weakly against the chain, gasping for breath. He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes, damp with tears. What could she see in his gaze? It was not hatred or even lust. No, it was something else, something she could not quite fathom.

He wiped the tears from her eyes tenderly.

"Let yourself go, Elizabeth. Let go. This will continue until you can release yourself from your pride."

She looked away from him, trying to ignore his words. He let her chin drop and turned toward the shelf of implements.

He returned a moment later with several balls of lead. Each had some sort of clamp attached. As she watched in horror, he attached one to each of her nipples, causing them to stretch out against the weight. Then he reached between her legs and attached the last to her sex, to the hot bud at the top that was once against slick with her fluids.

There was pain now, but pain of a different sort--pain that inflamed her innards. She felt more wetness squirt from her, and cursed herself, swearing internally in a most unladylike manner at the weakness of her flesh.

He walked behind her, reaching between her legs with his index finger. He slipped between the swollen lips of her sex, finding her virginity. For a horrified moment, she thought he meant to penetrate her, but instead he began to caress her, lightly stroking her supersensitized inner folds. As she had the night before, she soon lost control of her body, moving her hips slowly to meet his strokes. She gasped, panting through her open mouth.

"Let go, Elizabeth," he said again. "Pleasure is within your grasp if you will only take it."

She cried out, beyond the point of conscious thought, and thrashed against his fingers. The weights on her nipples and sex shook as she did, making the sensations explode. She cried out again, convulsing in his grasp.

When it was over, she went limp, filled with self-loathing. He had done it again, pleasured her against her will. She hated him, and hated herself for enjoying this.

He unlocked her manacles and returned her to her cell. She fell to the floor, sobbing quietly.

"Eat. You will need your strength for later."

X.

That was about as far as I could get before I got too tired to continue, but the truth was, I was getting blocked again. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with Elizabeth besides continuing to spank her. The essential element continued to elude me.

I logged on just before I went to bed. Danielle was there and paged me immediately.

"Anything new?"

"Yes. I'm sending it to you now."

"Great! I can't wait."

"I have to go to bed, though. See you tomorrow night?"

"Absolutely."

She answered the door wearing jeans and a black spaghetti-strap T-shirt.

"Hi. Come on in. I'm almost ready."

I followed her inside, seeing the rune on her shoulder again.

"I like that tattoo. Is that Celtic?"

"Thanks, but no. There's no such thing as Celtic runes. It's Norse."

"Does it mean anything?"

"Yep. Wanna guess?"

I pondered for a moment as she got a leather jacket out of her closet. Then I had a sudden idea.

"Slave?"

She grinned.

"Very good. I'm impressed."

"Sort of a secret label?"

"Right."

"Is that your only tat?"

"No. I have a couple others. If you behave yourself, you might get to see them some day."

I tried to stifle the frisson of anticipation that ran through me, with limited success.

"What about piercings? Any more of those?"

Another grin.

"Ditto. You ready?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

We returned to the Third Street Promenade, getting a table at a sports bar a few doors down from the diner we'd gone to last week.

"So," she said. "You're really working over poor Elizabeth."

"I didn't think it was all that kinky, to be honest."

"Well, it's not. It is pretty basic. But what impressed me is that I think you have the attitude down. I really like how you've gotten into her head."

"I have a good instructor."

She smiled.

"Do you? You want to chain me up like Elizabeth?"

"Would you like that?"

"You know the answer to that. Just don't get ahead of yourself."

"Okay. What I was trying to do was pattern it a little after the 'Sleeping Beauty' books. I don't have a lot of experience writing from a feminine perspective."

"I think you're doing fine so far. But you know what kind of bugged me about those books?"

"What?"

"I think Beauty submits far too easily. I don't know if you noticed, but she's just a kid when the book starts. Rice describes her as being fifteen when she's cursed to sleep until the prince finds her. And when he carries her off, she just submits right away, more out of fear than anything. I wish she had had more sense of self when it started, so she could have put forth more meaningful resistance. So that when she does finally submit, it would be a lot more fulfilling."

Something began tickling at my mind as she spoke.

"You know, I think we're back to the issue of life imitating art. You said yourself that BDSM fiction is about the fantasy, not how people would act in real life. It's about submerging yourself in this dungeon mentality."

"That's true."

"It's almost as if she's more like a real person, someone like you, who gets off on the fantasy. She submits because she enjoys what happens--even though she doesn't realize this immediately--and not because she's someone like Elizabeth, who starts off not being kinky. If you were a character in a story, how would you react to what happened to Beauty?"

She looked down, thinking for a moment.

"It's hard to say, because it just begs the question of what reality is. I mean, I don't want to be kidnapped in real life, but you're essentially asking me whether I would enjoy being immersed in one of my biggest fantasies."

"So it's not so easy to say how 'realistic' any BDSM fiction is. And you know what else occurs to me?"

"What?"

"You seem to place a lot of emphasis on resistance, yet you don't really resist when you act out this fantasy, do you? You pretend to resist and imagine that you're being held against your will, but in reality you're going along willingly. More than willingly, really. I mean, if you look at us, you're the one who's directing traffic right now."

She smiled.

"Good point."

When the check came about an hour later, I prepared to get up and leave.

"You ready to go?"

"Do you mind if we stay and watch the rest of the game?"

The Lakers were playing the Rockets that night, and the game had started while we were eating.

"You're into basketball?"

"Sure. I love sports."

"Want to go sit by the bar?"

We moved to a table under the big screen TV showing the game. I ordered another round of beer.

"I don't know if I would have pegged you as a sports fan," I said.

"Why not?"

"You seem to have so many other all-consuming interests."

She grinned.

"Hey, that stuff can be hard work. Got to stay in shape."

The Lakers lost on a Drexler lay-up at the buzzer, and we headed home.

"This is bad," she said in the parking lot. "You should have told me you were a Rockets fan."

"I told you I used to live in Texas."

"I may have to break this off now."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, wrong answer. You're supposed to say, 'You will learn the proper respect for my basketball team, girl.'"

I laughed, and she grinned at me again.

I took her home, and she stopped at her door.

"So what's my grade tonight?" I asked.

She smiled.

"You pass. You may proceed to the next level."

"Okay. Because I am serious about this. I'd like to understand more about it. And you."

"Well, you get an 'A' for effort. I'm willing to work on it if you are."

"Good. See you online?"

"Sure."

Her eyes twinkled a little, which I took as a green light, so I bent down and kissed her. She let me. When she opened her mouth, I could immediately feel the stud in her tongue. I probed at it, trying to feel it.

She giggled, withdrawing.

"Feel weird?"

"It's going to take some getting used to."

"Okay. Bye."

I drove home, thinking about our conversation that night. When I got back, I knew what I wanted to do.

XI.

Elizabeth awoke on the floor of her cell. How long had she been here? She had no sense of day or night down in this horrid dungeon. The only means she had to gauge the passage of time were the visits of her tormentor. He appeared, took her from her cell, and whipped her, all the while exhorting her to let go of her pride. When she was exhausted and on the verge of collapse, he would stop and stroke between her legs until she erupted under his ministrations. Each time, she would curse herself for her weakness in allowing him to violate her so.

No, she though to herself, that was a lie. Bit by bit, she was submitting to him, though she tried to fight it. When he chained her to the ceiling, she would surrender to him, going deep inside her mind to hide, telling herself that it was the only way. But she had to admit something. She was beginning to look forward to his visits. All else was excruciating boredom, staring at the walls of her cell with nothing to divert her.

She realized she was touching herself as she thought of him and drew her hands away in embarrassment. She sat up, leaning back against the wall behind her. He had begun allowing her to bathe, leaving a bucket of water and a cloth while she was asleep. She crawled over to the bucket he had left this time and wet the cloth.

Again she lost herself in thought, and came out of her reverie realizing she was rubbing the cloth against her sex. She started, dropping to the cell floor in frustration and throwing the cloth angrily into the bucket.

How had she become so debased? She had fallen so far from the haughty noblewoman she had once been. Where was her father, and for that matter, the Duke? Was no one looking for her? Did no one care about her anymore?

She thought of the masked man and the way he looked at her. It was never anger or lust she saw in his eyes. What did he want from her? Clearly not her virginity--he could have taken that a dozen times over by now. If only he would remove that mask. If only she could have some inkling of what she was supposed to do.

Once again, she realized she was pleasuring herself as she thought of the man, and this time she did not stop. She moved her fingers more deliberately as she thought of the last time she had seen him.

"Please, sir, I beg you! Tell me what it is you want from me! Only do not beat me again!"

He stared at her for a moment.

"No. You are getting there, Elizabeth, but you are not there yet. You must not submit merely because you fear the beatings. You must let go of the last shreds of your pride. You must be able to submit to me because you want to, even if what I want is to beat you again. Think upon that."

And the beating had resumed. Her buttocks were so swollen and sore now that they seemed perpetually rosy and tender. It took but a few swats before she was aflame. And of course, as the beating progressed, so did her arousal. When he stopped, it took but a moment or two of pleasuring to have her thrashing in his grip, crying out against what he was doing to her. Then he returned her to her cell and left.

She shuddered as she stroked rapidly between her legs, throwing her head back and gasping. Her legs thrashed of their own accord as she felt the explosion within her. Slowly then, she came back to reality, and opened her eyes.

He was there, and she started in surprise. He had been watching her.

"What are you doing, Elizabeth?"

She gasped for breath, too mortified and frightened to answer him.

"Do you think me angry with you?"

She gasped again.

"Sir, I do not--I was not--"

"What you were doing is clear. The question is why."

She whimpered.

"Answer me. If I get an answer I like, you may be pleasantly surprised."

What did he mean? What did he want her to say? She closed her eyes, thinking of the things he had told her. Perhaps the truth was best. But what was the truth?

"I could not help myself."

"Why not?"

"I do not know."

"Bollocks. Do not lie to me."

She went inside herself again. Let go of your pride. Let go, he said so often. The truth was there, but her pride was in the way. She tried to shove it aside.

"I was thinking . . . of the things you have been doing to me . . . I . . . have begun to anticipate them . . . though I hate myself for it."

"And why is that? What is there to hate?"

"I have become debased. I am no longer pure . . . as I once was."

"What is purity but the pretensions of those who deny their human nature?"

"Are there not such things as goodness and decency?"

"What is good? That which benefits mankind. How is mankind harmed by what you have experienced?"

"I have been harmed."

"How so?"

"You beat me."

"And you are worse off for this? Worse off for discovering a means of pleasure you knew not existed?"

She closed her eyes again. His words made her head spin.

"Come. Stand up."

She struggled to her feet, knowing by now not to resist him or plead for mercy. He opened the gate to her cell, but instead of leading her to the torment area, he removed her collar and turned toward the stairs.

"Where are we going?"

"Upstairs."

She froze. Now it was coming! He would take her virginity at last!

"Sir--"

"Do not be afraid. You have progressed enough to leave this place."

She followed him up the stairs. When he reached the top, she suddenly remembered her state of nudity. She had been nude for so long that it had begun to seem natural.

He noticed her agitation and smiled.

"Pride, Elizabeth. Remember your pride."

She took a breath and tried to calm herself. He opened the ironbound door and led her into the hallway. It seemed to be nighttime, and no one was about. She followed him to the main hall, and up a wide, ornate, stairway. The marble of the floor was cold against her bare feet. At the top of the stairs, he turned down the hallway, leading her to a broad set of double doors.

Inside was a sitting room, set out with plush couches and chairs.

"Kneel on that rug."

He pointed to the Turkish rug in the center of the furniture. She followed his direction and dropped to her knees.

"No. This is the proper position you must assume when kneeling. Head down, eyes to the floor. Do not raise your eyes unless so instructed. Spread your legs. Your knees must be apart at all times. Place your hands on your knees. Now arch your back so that your breasts are thrust out."

She complied, feeling her face begin to burn in humiliation.

"Very good. Remain here."

He passed through another set of double doors on the far wall. She dared a glance through the door, seeing that beyond was his bedchamber. Her heart began to beat faster, and she prayed that he did not plan to rape her tonight.

And what if he did? Would she resist him? How far was she from surrendering that last piece of herself?

"Stand."

She almost looked up at him before remembering his instructions. She stood, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Clasp your hands behind your back. That is the proper position when standing."

She did so. He produced a leather collar, though this was softer and narrower than the rough restraint she had worn since arriving. He strapped it around her neck. Her cheeks burned, though she did not stop him.

He walked around behind her, and she felt him begin to brush her long blonde hair, pulling out the tangles. His movements were slow and gentle, and she sighed at the unexpected tenderness. He kept it up for long minutes before stopping.

"That is better. You have very beautiful hair. It was a shame to let it get so tangled."

He walked back in front of her, holding a long golden chain. On each end, she saw a tiny golden clip. He reached out, tweaking her nipples until they erected, and she realized what he meant to do. But she did nothing.

He attached the clips to her nipples, letting the chain swing between her breasts. Then he produced a tiny bell with another clip attached. This he affixed to the swollen bud between her legs. She felt a tiny squirt of moisture inside herself as he did so, and blushed yet again.

"Come."

He took her arm and led her across the room to a long mirror. The little bell tinkled as she walked.

"Look at yourself."

She forced her eyes upward, seeing herself for the first time in days (weeks?). The sight almost made her gasp. She saw the bell between her legs, the chain on her breasts. Her arms were still behind her back, and as she turned slightly, she saw that her buttocks were still shiny and red.

"What do you see?"

"I don't understand."

"What do you see?"

"Myself. And you."

"Go on."

"Sir, I don't understand."

"Tell me what else you see."

"I see . . . that I am naked. I see a golden chain hanging between my breasts. I see a bell hanging from my . . . "

"Clitoris."

The word was unfamiliar to her.

"That is the anatomical term. Continue."

"I don't know what else to say."

"Look beyond the surface. What do you see?"

She tried. Look into yourself, she thought he meant.

"I see . . . a woman who no longer knows who she is. I see someone who wishes desperately to know what is desired of her."

"Good. I will tell you what I desire of you, Elizabeth. I want you to love me."

She gasped.

"Sir, I--I am betrothed, I--I know nothing of love. Even if I were not, you cannot coerce such emotions from me. I cannot force myself to love someone."

"Nor do I wish you to."

"Then what is it you want?"

"Think on what I have said. That is all."

Her took her arm and led her into the bedchamber. She lost a step in fear, and stumbled.

"Calm yourself, Elizabeth. Your virginity is in no danger. I merely wish you to sleep up here now. Unless you would prefer to return to your cell."

"No, sir."

"Very well. These will be your rooms for now."

She allowed herself to glance around the room, seeing a bedchamber even more luxurious than the one she had left behind in her father's castle. The bed was enormous, canopied in sheer veils. A dressing table sat on the far side near a window, and more chairs and a couch sat opposite the bed.

He left her at the foot of the bed and reached under the canopy. He drew out a long golden chain, slim like the one hanging from her breasts. A tiny lock was on one end, and he attached it to her collar. Then he stepped back.

"Good night. You may sleep or bathe or relax as you wish. I will see you in the morning."

Before she could formulate a response, he turned and left the room. She watched him leave, passing through the outer doors. He shut them behind him. She heard the lock slap shut a moment later.

XII.

I didn't actually finish that section until the end of the next week, during which Danielle continued to pester me about it. I talked to her every night online, and though we often discussed BDSM, I felt like the key element was still escaping my grasp. I finally sent her the next chapter late Thursday night.

We went out again on Friday, during which I confessed my problem in getting at the heart of BDSM. I gave her a thumbnail sketch of semiotics and explained what I was trying to do with Elizabeth's story.

"So the idea is that words have different meanings depending on the context? What's so complicated about that?"

"It's more than that. It's the concept that language is a form of cultural coding. Every word has at least two different meanings: the dictionary definition, or denotation, and the cultural definition, the connotation. They're rarely if ever exactly the same. And between two different cultures, you may have two different connotations. What the work says to one culture may be very different from what it says to another culture. It's not that one culture understands the work and one doesn't, it's that the words are saying two different things to each group. Who's to say what the correct meaning is? It's surprising how few people truly understand that."

"And these key words you're talking about--"

"Signifiers."

"--are part of the coding?"

"Right. And ultimately, my thesis is going to be this kind of analysis, of the different forms of BDSM erotica I've been able to find."

She shook her head, laughing.

"Okay. Whatever you say. I just keep thinking how you're being so scientific with something that's just good fun to me."

I couldn't help smiling.

"It's maybe not as dry as I'm making it sound. The act of deconstruction can be erotic if you let it be."

An eyebrow went up.

"Really? How?"

"This will require another involved explanation."

"Go for it."

"There's a book I studied last quarter, called 'Le Plasir de Texte.'"

"It's French?"

"A translation. The author is French. He discusses what he sees as the two different types of texts. The readerly, which is basically a work that is relatively straightforward and understandable, and the writerly, which requires much more effort from the reader, almost to the point of making the reader a producer of the text. These two types of text produce two different types of reading pleasure."

"The 'Plasir de Texte?'"

"Right. The first is simple pleasure, akin to eating a meal. The other is more difficult to translate; he refers to it as 'jouissance,' and it's much more of a sexual pleasure. It comes at the moment when the text is most difficult, where it breaks down and requires the most effort from the reader. He compares these gaps to the gaps in a garment, and they function in the same way that a few carefully arranged bits of clothing can be far more erotic than simple nudity."

"Huh. That actually makes sense."

"So to me, my previous girlfriend, who only liked making out in the dark, would be a readerly text. You, with all your fetish gear and tattoos and piercings, are a writerly text."

She grinned.

"And you're preparing to deconstruct me, is that it?"

"Maybe."

"We'll see about that, professor."

She invited me up when we got back.

"You know, I never asked who it is you live with here."

"My roommate Todd. He goes out a lot, which why you haven't seen him."

"Todd?"

She smiled.

"Jealous?"

"Should I be?"

"No. He's gay."

"Is he kinky too? Is there even such a thing as gay kink?"

"Plenty of it. But Todd is annoyingly vanilla. I tease him about it all the time."

"He knows about you?"

"Yeah. He thinks it's funny."

She took me back to her room to show me her collection of erotica. Only a few of the books were anything I had heard of. I flipped through a couple as she sat on the bed watching.

"See anything you like?"

"Maybe. But I'd like to get that story done first."

"I can't wait to see what's going to happen."

"Me neither."

She slid down to the floor next to me, sitting on her knees. We stared at each other for a moment or two. She smiled.

"Wanna see my other tattoos?"

I returned her smile for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed her. She put her arms on my waist and leaned back against the bed. She stopped again a moment later to free her long hair, pulling it up and laying it on the bed behind her. I reached back and played with it as I kissed her. I didn't think she was a natural blonde--her eye color kind of betrayed that fact--but her hair was still very nice, thick and straight and easy to get lost in.

I felt her hand on my waist, gripping my shirt and twisting the fabric slowly. As we continued kissing, it moved upward, and she started playing with my nipple through the cloth. Taking that as a cue, I moved the hand at my side up her abdomen, pausing for a second below her breast in case I was misreading her. She didn't stop me.

I cupped her right breast in my hand, feeling the weight. It was just short of a handful and very firm, but what I noticed immediately was something hard under the fabric, and it wasn't her nipple. I explored with my fingers, finding a little circular form at the center.

She giggled again.

"The other piercings you asked about."

I reached for her other breast, finding another ring through her left nipple, and feeling an enormous thrill coursing through me. I really, really wanted to see this now, but I figured I had to wait a bit. I explored some more, playing with her nipples and the rings through the fabric of her T-shirt and bra. She let me, and responded by pulling my shirt out of my jeans and feeling under it a little, dragging her nails over my back.

I waited another minute before doing the same thing to her. I reached up under her top, finding a satin bra under it. The bra had a front catch, and I moved my fingers to it, pausing again in case she wanted to stop me. As I expected, she didn't. I twisted the catch between my thumb and forefinger, and it popped open. I slid my hand under her bra, feeling the firm, warm flesh of her breast.

The rings through her now-erect nipples were not very large, maybe three-eighths of an inch across. They seemed to be about the same size as her navel ring. I reached down to check and decided that they were probably a matching set.

She let me play with her breasts for a few minutes before pulling back.

"Want to see the tattoo?"

"Where is it?"

She pulled off her top and bra together. What I saw then--beside that I had been right about her nipple rings--was an ornate rose, complete with thorny stem, on her left breast. It started toward the top of her breast, at about the 2 o'clock position above her nipple, and curled around toward the bottom.

"Like it?"

"Wow. Yeah."

She had pretty enough breasts as it was, but all this ornamentation was something else.

"That must have hurt."

"It did. But it was worth it. The rings hurt a lot worse."

She pulled me back toward her and we resumed kissing. About a minute later, I pulled back.

"Sit up on the edge of the bed."

She did. I scooted closer, wanting a better look at her breasts. She just smiled at me and rested her hands on my shoulders.

"Don't be afraid of the rings. It doesn't hurt if you play with them. It feels good."

I tried to comply, working on both at once, twisting and pulling on them. After a few moments of this, she put her hand on the back of my head and pulled me closer. Getting the message, I lowered my mouth to her breasts.

I worked the rings around with my tongue, moving back and forth between her breasts every few seconds. She stopped me to pull my shirt off but then let me go back to work.

She was soon sighing and twisting slowly on the bed in front of me. Her nails moved up and down my back, dragging trails along my spine.

She pulled my head up now and resumed kissing me. I returned my hands to her damp nipples and played with them for a few seconds. Then she withdrew.

"I've got a few more things to show you, if you want to see them."

I struggled with myself for a moment.

"Are you sure you want to do this this soon?"

She leaned back a little and looked at me.

"Well . . . this is technically our fourth date, right? We don't have to if you don't want to. But I don't want to stop just yet, okay?"

"Okay. Don't worry about it."

"Should I save some surprises for next time?"

"I think I have an idea what you're hiding now."

She smiled.

"Sure you don't want to see it?"

"Just out of curiosity."

"Purely scientific interest."

"Right."

She lifted herself off the bed and moved around in front of me. She took my hands and put them on the waist of her jeans. I unbuttoned the fly and slid them down. Under her jeans, she wore relatively simple black cotton panties. When she stepped out of her jeans, I slid my hands back up her thighs. She held out the waist of her panties on both sides, allowing me to hook my fingers under them. Taking a deep breath and trying to stifle my nervousness, I pulled them down.

Her pubic hair was shaved--or waxed maybe; the skin looked very smooth--but that was only one of the surprises. On her right side, about an inch or so below her bikini line, was a tattoo of a heart, around which were wrapped a pair of manacles. And, as I also expected, out from between her pubic lips peeked yet another silver ring, pierced right through her clitoris.

"What do you think?"

I had to catch my breath for a moment.

"Nice."

"And one more."

She turned around, showing me her butt. At the top, just below the small of her back, was another tattoo, this one a bird in flight, its wings spreading out in both directions.

"There's a scheme to this, isn't there? To all these tattoos."

She laughed.

"You're just so analytical tonight. But yes. Can you guess what it is?"

"Okay. The rune we've done. 'Slave.' That's one people are likely to see no matter what you're doing, so I'm guessing it's just meant as some identifying badge, as a sign to people who know what to look for about what you're into."

"Good. Keep going."

"The rose. Let's see."

I stared at it for a moment, realizing it looked familiar.

"Beauty. Both in the abstract sense and as a reference to the Anne Rice books."

She nodded, impressed.

"Two for two."

"But that's also something you might show to someone who hadn't gotten very close to you. Something you might expose at Club Fuck now and then. So it's also another badge, though a more intimate one."

"Right."

"Okay. The heart. That's easy. Love, right?"

"Right."

"But the manacles are a reference to your particular fetish. Like you can't love someone whom you didn't also want to submit to. In a fantasy sense, of course."

"Right, but there's more. Can you guess?"

I stared at the tattoo again. It took me a second or two to catch it.

"The manacles are open. Does that mean something?"

Her eyebrows went up a little.

"Yes. You're a very perceptive boy."

"Does it mean you haven't yet met this person?"

She smiled.

"Yep."

"And it's down here because it's not something you'd say to just anyone."

She turned around again.

"And the last one?"

I had to think for a minute. Birds, birds flying. What might that mean?

"Freedom? Independence?"

"And why is it where it is?"

Good question. I thought for a few moments. A symbol of freedom to someone. Who would need to see that when they were also looking at her butt? Put that way, the answer was suddenly obvious.

"It's a reminder. A reminder to someone who's spanking you."

Her jaw dropped slightly, and she didn't answer me right away.

"A reminder of what?"

"That you're still a free person? One last little bit of resistance that you can't let go of no matter what else you do?"

She laughed in disbelief, eyebrows going up.

"Wow. Am I that transparent?"

"No. I guess all this talk about signifiers is getting me thinking. And I've been listening to the things you've been telling me."

She straddled me, dropping to her knees and sitting on my legs. She smiled.

"Will you listen to one more thing, then? This signifier should be pretty easy to decipher."

"What?"

"Fuck me."

She caught me by surprise, and it took a second or two for that to sink in. But she hadn't waited for an answer anyway and leaned forward to kiss me. I returned the kiss, fondling her body as she sat in my lap. She reached down, unzipping my jeans and digging into them. I pushed her back and scooted up on the bed. She followed me, taking my pants down as she went, and we were soon naked together.

I spent a while just examining her up close, both the tattoos and the piercings. She lay back on the bed as I did, bemused. What I examined, I kissed and played with, and I was soon down between her legs running my tongue over her smooth lips and clit ring. I sucked it into my mouth, pulling on it gently with my teeth. She let me, just digging her nails into my hair. I developed a rhythm with it, working it up and down, flipping it back and forth. She rolled her hips under me, very slowly, but otherwise did nothing but moan softly under my attentions.

This was such a new experience that I lost myself in her for a while. I tried all the things I could think of to do with her clit ring, so I was actually startled when she suddenly let out a squeak, gripped my head in her hands, and began to bounce her hips at my face. I held on, not stopping as she shuddered into orgasm. As it peaked, she went completely rigid, holding me against her with a vice-grip as I attacked her mercilessly. Then, with a final cry, she pushed me away and melted back into the bed, gasping for breath.

I kissed around her abdomen as she twitched in the aftermath. Inch by inch, I moved back down, and she kept her hands on my head. When I reached the spot at issue, I went back to work very slowly and gently. Her breathing began to speed up, and her hips started rolling with me again. As she moved faster, so did I. Soon she was thrusting herself up at my mouth rapidly, whimpering with the sensations. I gave her everything I had at that point, and it was a matter of seconds before she was coming again. This time she almost screeched when it peaked, and convulsed under me like an epileptic. After that, I slid up to lie next to her.

She lay as if dead for about a minute before rolling over against me.

"That ring seems to make a difference."

She laughed softly.

"Some. But that was mostly you."

She slid up to kiss me briefly, trying to taste herself in my mouth, then slid down and began sucking my nipples. While she did, she reached down to play with my penis, stroking and tweaking it gently.

She climbed over me, kissing her way down until she was directly over my erection. She extended her tongue, licking up the entire length. I could feel the stud in her tongue, and she worked it back and forth as she went.

She looked up at me, grinning.

"Like that?"

"God, yes."

She took most of it in her mouth, holding it at the back of her throat as she rubbed the stud against the underside. All I could do was groan and grip her hair in my hands. She sucked on it and withdrew, keeping her tongue tight against me. Up and down she went, a steady rhythm, all the while working her tongue and its stud back and forth. With her free hand, she played with my balls gently, pulling on them and dragging her nails against them.

Under such expert attentions, I quickly lost a grip on my control. I didn't want to stop her, but I needed something to distract me. I reached down for her, trying to pull her up so I could work on her at the same time.

She pulled back, grinning.

"What?"

"Swing around up here."

She smiled for a second, then looked down at the bed.

"There's another way we could do that, if you want to try it. You might enjoy this way more."

"How?"

"I'll hang my head off the bed. You stand over me and do what you want."

I saw what she meant and slid off the bed. She lay on her back and hung her head off the end. I approached her, and she took my erection in her hands, guiding me back into her mouth. Then I leaned over her, lowering my head between her legs. I thrust forward gingerly, waiting for her to stop me. I got to the back of her throat and withdrew.

I felt as if I were making love to her, except the ends were reversed. I could take her buttocks in her hands and lick her as I thrust into her mouth. On my next thrust, she stopped my withdrawal and instead urged me further forward. I pushed a little, not wanting to gag her, but she continued pulling me in. Suddenly realizing what she wanted me to do, I had to pause for a second to regain my composure, which wasn't easy.

I thrust forward gently, feeling myself sliding into her throat. Bit by bit I went, until I felt her nose against my balls. She pushed me back now, and I withdrew as far as she let me. Then she pulled me forward again.

Losing myself in this new experience, I bent further forward and sucked on her clitoris, thrusting gently in and out of her throat as I did. She guided me into a rhythm she seemed comfortable with, and once again, I realized I was about to come.

I tried to stop, but she wouldn't let me--instead she urged me forward. With a few barely restrained thrusts, I squirted off down her throat. I withdrew as soon as I could, but she held on, sucking me for a bit longer once I was back far enough for her to breath. When she let me go, I crawled forward and collapsed on the bed.

She sat up, grinning.

"Did you like that?"

I groaned.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"Girl Scouts."

She flopped next to me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't want to come that quickly."

She smiled.

"You got me off, I get you off. What's wrong with that? We have all night."

"Okay. Where did you learn that, though?"

"I learned it on my own. I've been doing it for a long time."

I laughed softly.

"Now you've got me worried about the rest of this."

"It's too late to escape now, sorry."

She snuggled against me, and we spent a while kissing and cuddling. I couldn't get enough of her breasts, both because of their decorations and the wonderful shape and firmness. She hung herself above me, letting me lick and suck on them for about five or ten minutes. I pulled her up to lick at her again, but she stopped me before I got her off. She turned around and took my penis in her mouth, and soon produced another erection. Then she dug a condom out of her nightstand and rolled it on. With that taken care of, I pulled her up above me, and she sat back down, swallowing me inside her.

She rode me for a few minutes before rolling over. Lying on top of her, I could feel her piercings pressing against me, both above and below. She wrapped herself around me, and I kissed her again, penetrating her from both directions. She pushed herself up at me, trying to get her clit ring rubbing against me. A minute or two of that soon had her shuddering in orgasm, twitching and biting at my shoulder, moaning through her nose.

Having come once already, I was able to make love to her for a long, long time. Finally she rolled on her stomach, putting a pillow under her, and stuck her butt back at me. I bent over her as I thrust in, reaching around for her breasts. She braced herself against the headboard and pushed backwards against me. She rolled her firm buttocks under me as I rode her, and I realized she was rubbing her clit ring against the pillow. The thought of that was enough to do it for me, and when I felt her coming yet again, I drove myself into her and came.

We lay together quietly for a while before she propped herself up on my chest.

"How you doing?" she asked.

"Wonderful."

"Me too. It's been a while for you, hasn't it?"

"Yeah. Six months maybe."

"I could tell."

I chuckled.

"Sorry. Lack of control?"

"No. I meant you were really getting into it, you know? Paying attention to me and everything. Not just getting off."

"Okay. Well, I like you. I wanted to get a good look at you."

She smiled.

"I like you, too."

She set her chin on her arm and stared at me.

"It doesn't bug you, what I did earlier? Some guys get weird about a girl being too proficient at sex, you know? Like it means she must have done it with ten thousand guys or something."

"Well, it was a surprise. But not a bad one. I mean, I knew you had some experience, given everything else about you."

"Okay. But just so you know, I don't have that much experience. I've only slept with seven guys as of tonight. I just like sex. I like experimenting with it."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

She looked at me for a few more moments, apparently trying to discern if I was telling the truth.

"The last guy I went out with started off like that, saying he didn't care. But when I wanted to get kinky, he got all weird about it. Like he wanted to do it, but didn't want to think that I had done it with anyone else."

"That's not really fair."

"No. It drove me nuts. I broke up with him because of it. I wasn't going to stay with a guy who had that kind of attitude about me."

"I'll try. That's all I can tell you."

"Okay."

She laid her head on my chest. I rolled over a second later and took her into my arms. She nuzzled her head against me. I sniffed her hair, feeling my lust for her welling up again, even though I had just spent two hours making love with her.

"You turn me on," I whispered to her. "Every little thing about you turns me on. I can't imagine getting turned off by anything you do. Or did."

She giggled, snuggling against me.

"Thanks."

I held her for a long while before we fell asleep.

XIII.

Elizabeth slept like a dead woman. After sleeping on straw- covered stone for so long, the soft cotton sheets she found on the bed were like sleeping on clouds.

She awoke very slowly, stretching out, not wanting to leave her warm nest under the covers. But awareness gradually prodded at her brain. Slight discomfort reminded her of the golden chain at her neck. It was under her arm, digging into the skin. She pulled it free, opening her eyes to examine it.

It was heavy, solid gold most likely. It certainly had the luster of pure gold. So much wealth employed for such a purpose. Who was this man? A nobleman, no doubt, but who could he be? She thought she knew most of the nobles nearby, and she was not so far from her home. They had traveled no further than they would likely have traveled to reach the Duke.

The thought of her prospective husband chilled her. Was her engagement still in force? Was he searching for her? And if he found her, would he still want to marry her? She felt, with a sinking certainty, that he would not, certainly not if he found out what had happened to her.

Was that bad? She had not exactly looked forward to her marriage. The prestige and wealth of marrying a Duke were one thing, but the price was near to more than she wanted to pay. To let some uncouth man who thought he owned her paw and grope at her body.

She felt a twinge in her stomach. What, then, was she doing now? The masked man had left her virginity intact, but he had conquered the rest of her quite thoroughly. Surely she would never have allowed her husband to beat her or fondle her between her legs as he did. Yet the thought of now giving that up unsettled her.

She rolled over, seeing a dark form beyond the veil of her bed. She pushed it aside, no longer surprised to have him sneak up on her like this.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

"Are you hungry?"

She nodded.

"Come."

She slipped out of bed, pulling the chain behind her. He reached up to her neck and unlocked it. Then he turned to the outer room. She followed him.

She saw a tray of food awaiting them on a table but knew better than to speak of it. He sat in the chair next to the table. Sensing what she thought he wanted, she knelt in front of him, remembering a second later to assume the position he had described the night before.

"Good. This is what I expect from you."

He held a piece of fruit to her mouth. She took it, chewing slowly, then swallowing. He handed her another. Like that, he fed her for several minutes.

"Are you happy?"

She looked up in surprise, remembering too late that she was not supposed to raise her eyes. But he didn't seem to mind. He returned her gaze with that strange look she had yet to fathom.

"What?"

"It is a simple question. Are you happy? Or would you rather I released you?"

Her head spun. Would he really let her go? Or was this another test? She breathed rapidly, unsure what to say.

"When I ask you these sorts of direct questions, I want the truth. Lying to me is more serious that resisting me."

"I . . . I do not know."

"You are concerned about your marriage?"

"Yes."

"You think your husband would never accept you now, not in this apparent debauched state."

"He would not. Not if he knew."

"If I could arrange it so that your virtue was clearly still intact, what would you do? So that your husband had no doubts about you?"

His questions made her head ache. What did she want? Was she prepared now to enter such a stale, arranged match after everything she had experienced with him?

She sagged.

"No. You have ruined me for him. And him for me. I do not wish to marry him now."

"You wish to stay?"

"I do not know."

"You may leave now if you wish. I will not hinder you."

She did not answer him.

"I wish to spank you again. The glow on your pretty buttocks has begun to fade. I will ask you one more time, do you wish to leave?"

She said nothing. Taking a deep breath, she stood. She walked to a nearby chair and turned away from him, leaning on it in the position she thought was appropriate.

She felt his hand on her buttocks, caressing her.

"You are exquisite, Elizabeth. More than I ever dared anticipate. Spread your legs slightly. Yes, like that. Now curl your back so your buttocks are more pronounced."

She did, wondering why she was doing this.

The first slap of his bare hand made her gasp. She focused herself, letting go the way she had learned to do. She steadied her body, keeping her weight balanced as he spanked her. She felt her buttocks beginning to swell and glow again.

He continued for several minutes before she was tender and swollen. The anticipation had her near to bursting now. Touch me, she thought. Please touch me.

He did. His fingers probed her wetness, stroking gently. She gasped, throwing her head back. As before, she shuddered in release in but a few seconds. He did not stop, however. His attentions continued, drawing a second, then a third climax from her, before her legs finally buckled and she fell to the floor, grasping at the chair to support herself.

"Wonderful," he whispered. "Simply wonderful."

He bent to kiss the sweat from her forehead, then left.

XIV.

"What are you doing?"

I looked up from Danielle's computer, where I had been working. She was still in bed, lying on her side. I had awoken early that morning, filled with ideas, and started to write.

"Working on the story."

"Really? Can I read it?"

"Yeah. I need to take a break. I'm at a stopping place, I think."

She kicked off the covers and grabbed a nightshirt from her dresser. She sat at the computer as I got up.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah."

"I'll make something to eat while you read."

"Thanks."

I bent down to kiss her. She returned the kiss, though she kept her eyes on the screen.

I pulled on my jeans and shirt and emerged from the room. Out in the living room, I found a bald black guy in his gym shorts reading the paper. He wasn't very tall, but he had a chiseled, well-muscled physique. We both started in surprise before realizing who the other had to be.

"Hey," he said. "You must be Dani's boyfriend."

"Yeah. You must be Todd."

"That's me."

He held out his hand, and I shook it.

"I'm Danny."

He laughed.

"No shit? Your name's Danny too?"

"Yeah."

"Weird."

"No kidding."

"She in there?"

"Yeah. She's awake but she's busy."

"Cool. Make yourself at home."

I padded into the kitchen and looked around. The place was very clean and set out with a lot of little designer-type utensils. I leaned back into the living room.

"Am I going to step on anyone's toes if I try to cook something here?"

He laughed.

"No, go right ahead."

I poked through the refrigerator, finding some eggs, then some onions, mushrooms and sour cream. An omelette might be nice.

Danielle appeared as I was chopping the mushrooms.

"You cook, too?"

"I try."

She hugged me from behind, lifting up on her toes to rest her chin on my shoulder.

"I'm officially hooked. You're stuck with me until you finish that thing."

I laughed.

"Good."

I finished the omelettes a few minutes later, and Todd set down the paper to join us. He worked for a movie production company in Brentwood that I had never heard of ("Don't worry, neither has anyone else."). He was twenty-six and from Chicago. He and Dani had met through a friend of hers and had shared the place for about six months.

"All the time she spends on that damn computer, I knew this going to happen sooner or later."

"Todd's just jealous," she said. "He's still looking for Mr. Right."

I laughed, trying not to let it appear forced. Dani put her hand on mine.

"Todd and I usually walk down to the beach to play volleyball on Saturday mornings. You should come with us."

I looked down at myself.

"I can't really play volleyball like this."

"I can loan you some shorts," Todd said. "It's no problem."

"Okay. Let's do it, then."

We cleaned up the kitchen, and Todd found some volleyball shorts for me. I changed in Danielle's room while she put on a spandex bra top and tied her hair behind her head. I watched her dress, feeling a twinge in my stomach and a catch in my throat. Damn it, she was cute.

She saw me looking at her and smiled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I walked over and kissed her again. She linked her arms around my waist.

"I'm glad you spent the night. Even if this is going a little fast."

"Me too."

She kissed me again. Then we left for the beach.

We walked down the street until reaching the cliff above Pacific Coast Highway. Todd led the way down the steps, and we had to repeatedly make way for the joggers running up and down the cliff. The sun was out, and it was already getting hot. We crossed the pedestrian bridge over the highway and found ourselves on the beach.

The volleyball nets were about a hundred yards down. I saw a group of three people--two guys and a girl--standing around the nearest one, but no one else. They were knocking a ball around but not really playing.

Todd approached them about a game, and we were soon playing three-on-three. Dani might have been on the short side, but she was quite a volleyball player. She made up for her lack of size by being able to jump almost as high as I could (and I was five inches taller). Todd played back and set the two of us at the net. I hadn't played seriously in a while, but I got back into it quickly enough.

We won the first game 15-12 and took a break. They suggested rearranging the teams, and Dani and I played with the other girl, whose name was Raquel. She looked to be Latina, with long curly black hair. In talking to them, we had learned they were all students at UCLA Law School.

That game was more evenly matched, and it went on until our side won 17-15. By then the other three had to leave, and three of us sat down next to the net to rest. We passed around a bottle of water while catching our breath.

"You guys met on that computer, huh?"

"Yep," Dani said.

"Damn. Maybe I should try that place out. Or is it just straight folks?"

"It's mostly straight," I said. "But I have seen some gay members."

"There are a bunch of gay BBS's in L.A.," Dani said. "You might have better luck there."

"You'll have to show me how some time."

We sat there for a while longer, and Dani and I started knocking the ball back and forth. Nobody else showed up, and we eventually walked back home just before noon. I returned Todd's shorts and changed back into my jeans.

"I suppose I should get home and get cleaned up."

"You want to do anything tonight? Or later today?"

"Sure."

"Will you be online later? Or should I call you?"

"Either or. Or I could call you."

"Okay. See ya."

I kissed her for a few seconds, then left.

When I got back, I found Ted watching football in the living room.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You just getting back?"

"Yeah."

"You get lucky?"

I couldn't help grinning.

"Very. This is quite a girl."

"Cool. When do I get to meet her?"

"She might be coming over later."

I took a shower and changed clothes. Then I logged on to the BBS, finding a message from Dani with the story portion I had written that morning attached. I also found her online waiting for me.

She paged me immediately.

"=) =) =) =)"

"Hey. =)"

"I had a REALLY good time last night. And today."

"So did I."

"And I am DYING to know how you're going to finish that story."

"So am I LOL"

"Don't tell me anything if you have any ideas. I want to find out when I read it."

"I'm kind of blocked, actually. I have to give it some thought."

"Okay. I'll try not to pester you then. But I will be thinking about it."

We spent a while talking back and forth before deciding that she could just come over and hang out, and maybe later head over to the Village for a movie. She showed up about half an hour later in cut-off jeans and a white knit shirt with "L.A.P.D." on the breast.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked after I kissed her in the doorway.

"One of my old boyfriends was a cop. He gave it to me."

"Did you make him dress up?"

She grinned.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Maybe not."

I introduced her to Ted, who stayed on the couch, acknowledging her with a wave and a "hey." I showed her around the place (which took about thirty seconds), and we settled into my room.

"You've sure got a lot of books."

"I collect them. I've never thrown a book out. This is probably every book I've ever read."

She found my copy of "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty" and held it up, grinning.

"Look familiar?"

I nodded.

"A little."

The rose on the cover was very similar to the one on her breast.

"Did you have them do it that way?"

"Not exactly. I just told the guy I wanted something like it."

She flipped through the book.

"She wrote this for her husband, did you know that?"

"Is that the S.T. thing in the beginning?"

She nodded.

"'Rocquelaure' is French for 'cloak.' Her pseudonym, in other words. So A.N. is Anne. Her husband's name is Stan."

"S.T."

"Right. And I just think about all the work she must have put into this for him, knowing it might never get published because it was so explicit. I can't think of anything much more romantic than that. I'd rather have someone write me erotica than poetry."

She stared down at the book for a second before realizing what she had said. She glanced up at me, stifling a smile.

"But I guess you've figured that out already."

I grinned.

"Yeah."

We spent the afternoon around the apartment, moving out to the living room a bit later to watch the football game Ted was watching. UCLA was playing USC at the Rose Bowl. Dani had graduated from UCLA the same year I had graduated from Berkeley (journalism, with honors; she worked for a little publishing company near LAX), so she and Ted rooted for the Bruins while I just sat and watched. We ended up ordering a pizza for dinner since the two of them didn't want to stop watching the game. UCLA finally won in a wild shootout, 37-35, and Dani and I walked over to the village to catch a late movie.

"Tell me something," she asked on the way over.

"Shoot."

"Is Ted gay?"

That question stopped me in my tracks.

"I don't think so. Why?"

"When you live with a gay man long enough, you tend to pick up on the signs. Something about him just seemed gay."

"Well, if he is, he's been hiding it pretty damn well. He and I go bar-hopping all the time."

"Has he ever had a girl over?"

"Well . . . no. But then neither have I. Except today, I guess. But that doesn't mean anything."

"It was just a feeling. I could be wrong."

By the time the movie was about to start, the UCLA students had begun to return to school, driving through the village screaming and honking their horns at the team's victory, which had sent them to the Rose Bowl in January. We could hear them even inside the theater.

"God," she said. "I remember how this was. Except we beat SC only once when I was here."

When the movie began, her hand slipped into mine and stayed there the rest of the night. Toward the end, she snuggled against me and laid her head on my shoulder. When we started for home, it was almost midnight.

We stopped at the front of my building.

"You can come up if you want. But don't feel like you have to."

She grinned, looking at me coyly.

"I'll come up on one condition."

"What?"

"You write me another chapter in that story."

She spent the night. I wrote another chapter.

XV.

Elizabeth awoke early and slipped out of bed. After putting on the nipple chain and her golden bell, she stepped across the room to sit in a chair by the window. Her room looked out over a vast estate. She could see nothing but trees and hills before her. The clouds hung low in the sky, gray and misty, and fall colors had begun to dapple the trees.

How long had it been? She was to be married on the first of September, only a few days after her kidnapping. This was her fifth, or perhaps sixth night in this room. She thought that meant she had been here at least three weeks. The red and gold shades decorating the trees below her seemed to confirm that fact.

Elizabeth was growing bored. She looked forward to the masked man's visits--she had to admit that much to herself now--but he came to her but once or twice a day. The rest of the time she could do nothing but lounge around her rooms like a house cat. She had found a collection of books in the outer room, and initially thought she could spend her time reading. But these were no ordinary books. They told stories of women like her, the things the masked man had done, and a great deal more--things that made her blush and gasp in embarrassment. Though she thought of the books often, she had not yet been able to bring herself to read them again.

She fingered the gold chain at her neck. From examining it in her mirror, she thought she knew how to remove it, but she never had. Why not, she wondered? He wanted her like this. That seemed enough of a reason.

She sighed. Her old life was over; that much was clear. She no longer had any interest in meeting the Duke, wherever he was. Damn him for not finding her! He must not have been as interested in her as her father thought. And damn her father as well.

What to do? The daily spankings and subsequent pleasure the man gave her were enjoyable enough, but she was beginning to realize she wanted more. Surely there was more he could show her? She knew that he desired her, and she had enough sense of self left to know that her endowments ought to please any man. But other than spanking her, fondling her, and occasionally caressing her breasts, he had done nothing. Certainly he had shown no inclination to bed her.

"I want you to love me," he had said. Was that what he waited for? She closed her eyes, digging deep into herself as he had taught her to do. What were her feelings for this mysterious man? What, indeed, was love? She had never known it. Did she wish to be with him? Yes. She wished he were here now, instead of leaving her alone. Did she care for him? She was not sure. She knew so little about him. He cared for her, that was clear enough. He had said as much. She wondered so much about what he wanted from her; what did she want from him?

I want him to bed me, a voice said. She gasped at herself. What was she thinking? Her virginity was not to be tossed away so lightly. And why not? the voice asked. Who are you saving it for now? The Duke will not have you at this late date; everyone will assume you were ravished in your captivity. Why not spend it in a market of your choosing, rather than letting your father decide?

Her breath came in rapid gulps. Could she do this? Should she? And if she offered herself to the masked man, would he accept? Were he to turn her down, it would be the final humiliation. She would throw herself from this window.

She heard the outer doors open and leapt up from her chair. Keeping her eyes downcast, she scurried out to the sitting room, dropping to her knees before him.

"My. We are so eager this morning."

She could not speak in her trepidation.

"Are you hungry?"

Indeed I am, she thought, but not for what you have been feeding me.

"Yes, sir. No, sir. I mean . . ."

"What is the matter?"

She gasped for breath.

"I cannot bring myself to say it."

"You have no secrets from me, Elizabeth, nor should you. Speak."

"You said . . . you wanted me to love you."

"Yes."

"Do you love me?"

He sat down in a chair next to her. He took her chin in his hands and lifted her head.

"I have loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you."

His words washed over her in a heated wave. Her nipples, held tightly by the clips on her chain, began to throb.

"Were I to say I loved you," she responded finally, "I could not be sure of the truth of my words, for I have never known love before. But I am sure of one thing."

"What is that?"

"I want you to love me."

"I do."

"No . . . I want you to love me. Bed me. I have nothing left to offer you. You have taken all else I have."

He stared at her for long moments.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He stood, lifting her to her feet. A great dizziness swept through her, making her feel as if she were walking on air. He led her to the bedchamber and drew aside the veils. Weak now, she could only lie back where he laid her. She tried to gain control of herself, but her heart was beating too rapidly.

He plucked the bell from her sex and the chain from her nipples. She watched him removing his clothing beside the bed. His chest was broad and well muscled; dark hair dusted his breast and abdomen. He slid out of his breeches, and at last she saw his organ. It was larger than she had imagined it being, and it grew under her gaze, lengthening and rising to attention.

"Wait," she gasped.

"What is it?"

"Please. Will you remove your mask? May I see your face?"

He reached up, pulling the black mask back over his head.

It was a strong face, rugged cheekbones and jaw. His eyebrows were dark and thick, brooding over his dark blue eyes. It was a face that had known pain, but a handsome one. He was older than she, though not so much more. Perhaps mid-twenties, perhaps a bit older.

"Better?"

"Yes."

He came to her, lying beside her. He looked down at her, caressing her face and hair. She lost herself in his eyes, recognizing at last what she had seen all along. He did love her, however that was possible.

He lowered himself, kissing her. She felt a flutter in her chest as he did so, and tried to mimic his actions. She dared to put her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer. His hand moved to her breast, cupping it, running his fingers over the nipple.

He kissed her for long minutes, exploring her body. She opened herself to him, denying him nothing. His hands ranged over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. He kissed her breasts, sucking the ends until they ached. She felt a great heat building in her, a heat that made her clutch at him frantically, made her pull him closer. Her sex was pulsating and wet now, and she wanted him there. In a fit of boldness, she grabbed his hand and placed it between her legs.

He chuckled, caressing her.

"Now?"

"Yes."

He moved above her, moving between her thighs. She spread herself wide, arching her back under him. She felt his organ moving forward, probing at her, so enormous and hard. For a moment, she feared it would split her in two, but her sex parted easily at his approach. He was at her virginity now, pausing. She moaned in anticipation.

Then he thrust forward. She cried out, spiking herself upward at the momentary pain, but a second later she was awash in pleasure as he filled her. Up and up it came, spreading her outward.

"Elizabeth," he gasped.

"My love."

He kissed her passionately, beginning to drive himself into her. She moved with his motions, rising instinctively to meet his thrusts. The whirlwind of her arousal soon swept her away until she was nothing but a thing in his arms, urging him onward ever faster and deeper.

Her release, when it came, burst through her with a stab of pleasure so intense that it frightened her. She dug her nails into his back, crying out in fulfillment as he rode between her thighs, all control lost. He groaned, gasping for breath, crying out himself as he stabbed the last bit of himself into her. Her arousal peaked a second time as he began shudder above her. Then at last, as he shook like a man in the throes of death, his seed rose and passed into her.

She pulled him down as his climax subsided, holding him, kissing him, sighing into his ears. She was his at last.

XVI.

There was more I wanted to add, but that was enough for now. I don't know how long I sat there before I noticed Dani watching me. She lay in bed, head on the pillow, snuggled around it. When I looked over, she smiled a little and reached across the bed for me. I was suddenly awash in this enormous feeling of--whoops! Hold on there--too soon for that word. Much too potent a signifier. Infatuation was what it was, but whatever, it felt nice.

"Hi," she said.

"Good morning. How long have you been awake?"

"About five minutes. I like to watch when you write. You talk to yourself."

"I know. I guess I'm working out the dialogue in my head."

"It's neat. I can just see the wheels working in your head. You're totally oblivious to everything around you."

I left the chair and slipped back into bed with her. She squirmed against me, snuggling and kissing me. I groped at her, playing with all the piercings on her torso. She reached down for my stiffening penis when I started to play with her clit ring.

"You like that thing?"

"I love it. It's just so much more erotic with all this ornamentation on you."

She tweaked the head of my penis.

"Guys can get one too. It's called a Prince Albert."

I shuddered.

"Ugh. I don't even want to think about that."

"It hurts, but it's only temporary. And it makes a difference afterwards. My clitoris is so much more sensitive now with the piercing."

"Do you want me to do that?"

"Would you?"

"I'd really have to work up to it."

"Don't do it for me. You might end up resenting me for it afterward. Just something to think about."

She slipped under the covers and took my penis in her mouth. She worked me over for a minute or two, rubbing the stud in her tongue back and forth over the glans. I groaned. Good God, this could get addictive.

I stood it as long as I could before pulling her off. She climbed up above me, straddling me, and sat back slowly, letting me sink into her. She squeezed me once, tightly, as I bottomed out.

"Mmm. I love your dick."

"I love your . . . whatever you want me to call it."

"Pussy is fine. Vagina sounds so clinical."

"The connotations aren't very erotic."

She laughed through her arousal.

"No."

"Then I love your pussy."

She squeezed me again.

"You fit just right. Not too small, not too big."

"You don't like big?"

"Too big is not good. It hurts, and you can't do as much with it."

She began to rock back and forth over me. I lay back, letting her work, playing with her breasts and piercings.

She moaned.

"What's happening to Elizabeth?"

"She's deciding what she wants."

"What does she want?"

"She's not sure. She doesn't want her old life back now."

"No. She wouldn't. She's learning about what she really needs."

"Yes."

She dropped forward, kissing me deeply. She rode up and down rapidly now, moaning through her nose. A few seconds later, her hands dug at my shoulders, and I felt her shaking above me as she came. Then the breath went out of her slowly, and she relaxed, settling down onto my body.

"Good?"

"Mmm."

She stretched out her legs, sliding her arms under my neck. I reached down to caress her firm little butt. She squeezed me again, rhythmically, and slowly moved herself up and down.

"Do you like that?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"I practice. It takes some work to be able to do that."

"I love it."

She lifted up to kiss me once or twice, then looked into my eyes.

"Can I keep you?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember Mistress Rebecca?"

"Sure."

"What would you think . . . maybe next weekend . . . if I asked if we could borrow her dungeon?"

I tried to respond objectively, which wasn't easy given what she was still doing down below.

"I thought you said that would take a while."

"I know. But it's more an emotional issue than a time issue. I really feel like I know you now. It hasn't been all that long, but I know you understand me. I can tell that from the story. And I want it. Badly."

"If it's what you want, absolutely. But only if you really do trust me like you've been saying. I don't want to rush into this."

"I know. I'm going to think about it more this week."

"Okay. No pressure."

She kissed me.

"Thanks."

She moved herself more deliberately now, squeezing and moving up and down. I held her buttocks, trying to control the sensations. Only a minute or two more was enough to get me off. When I was done, she rolled over to my side.

"Like that?"

I groaned. She giggled and kissed my nose.

"Okay. Now I have to read."

She hopped out of bed and jumped to the computer. I lay there resting while she read the next installment.

"I still can't figure out what you're going to do with this," she said a few minutes later. "You're hiding something from me."

"Maybe."

"I won't ask. I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"Like how it's going?"

"Stop asking me questions you know the answer to. How much more is there?"

"One last bit, I think."

"I can't wait. I can't think what you're going to do. It does have an ending, right? They don't just live happily ever after like this?"

"No. It does have an ending. I just have one last thing to get a grip on."

She came back to bed, curling under my arm.

"Do you have to do anything do today?"

"I have some reading to do for school. But I can do it later."

She snuggled against me.

"Mmm. Let's just stay in bed. I want to spend all day in bed with you."

"If I'm in bed with you, I can't write."

She laughed softly.

"Tough choice. But I think I'll take you."

So we did.

XVII.

I didn't see Dani again for a few days, although we talked every night on the BBS. She didn't bring up the dungeon issue again, and I didn't either. I was still a little surprised that she was willing to go that far this fast, and I wondered if maybe she regretted proposing it this soon.

I had a lot to do for school that week, so I wasn't able to get back to the story for a few days. I knew what I wanted to do, but it was a question of finding the time.

On Wednesday, around noon, I was walking back from the graduate library when I saw a familiar face: Dani's roommate Todd.

"Hey."

"How's it going? What brings you over here?"

"I've got a friend at the School of Cinema. He had a project he wanted me to look at."

"Anything worth mentioning?"

"Too soon to tell. Hey, you ate lunch yet?"

"I was about to."

"Want to grab a bite?"

I had a momentary twinge wondering if he was making a pass at me but sensed nothing unusual.

"Sure."

The North Campus cafe was next to the library, and we got a seat in the courtyard after getting our respective lunches.

"What's it like living with Dani? I can't help but think it must have taken some getting used to."

He laughed.

"No shit, man. Those outfits she wears to that club, I tell you, I wonder sometimes if maybe I'm missing something."

"Pretty wild."

"Yeah. But the truth is, it's not that big a deal, her being kinky and all. From one perspective, it's not that different from being gay. They're both fringe communities, even out here."

We ate for a few moments.

"What's this about your roommate?" he asked.

I laughed.

"Oh, God, she told you?"

He laughed too.

"Just said she thought he might be gay."

"I have no idea. If he is, he's never let on about it. I've certainly never seen him with another guy."

"Would that bother you? If it turned out he was?"

I thought for a second.

"I don't think so. I mean, unless he started acting completely different."

"Dani said he's Asian."

"Yeah. Chinese. He's getting his Ph.D. in Linguistics."

"Think he's cute?"

I couldn't answer him right away, and he laughed again.

"From a straight perspective. Since that's all you can give me."

"I guess so. He's in good shape. He's not bad-looking."

"Huh."

"Is there a way you can tell? If he's gay, I mean. I hate thinking that there's some stereotypical behavior patterns you pick up on, but Dani seemed to talk like she thought there were."

"Not really. People like to call that 'gaydar,' but unless you're talking about certain gay fashion trends, it's really nothing more than whether you think someone's attracted to you. You can tell when a woman is interested in you, right? From the way she acts and looks at you?"

"Yeah."

"It's the same thing. Straight men, for example, don't maintain eye contact the way gay men do. You don't look at men the same way you do women, right?"

"I guess not."

"So if someone is really giving me the eye, that's a good sign he's gay."

"Well, Ted's never acted like that with me."

"He might be straight. Or it may just mean you're not his type. Just because he's gay doesn't mean he wants to bone every set of buns he sees."

"Okay."

"You do understand that, don't you? I mean, when I asked you if you wanted to have lunch, for a split-second you thought I might be making a pass at you, didn't you? Admit it."

"All right. The thought did cross my mind. But I'm still here."

He laughed.

"I'm just teasing you. It's cool."

"Interesting point, though. It's all about context. An invitation from a straight man signifies something different to some people than one from a gay man."

"All depends on your perspective."

And that's when it finally hit me. I knew what the essential BDSM signifier was.

XVIII.

Elizabeth came slowly awake as the setting sun shown through the window across from her bed. Vivid rose-gold hues burned through the sky, matching the fiery leaves on the trees below. Her eyes drifted to the man beside her. He sat back against the headboard, watching her. They had made love repeatedly through the day, not stopping until she passed out from exhaustion.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel?"

"Lost. My old life is gone. I have nothing but that which I have with you. I have given you all I can now. If you truly love me, as you say, you will not ignore that fact. My future depends on you. You cannot abandon me now."

"I have no intention of doing so."

"You will honor your responsibility to me?"

"Yes. Much more than you realize, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"You will see. Get up."

He swung his legs off the bed and began getting dressed.

"Where are you going?"

"I will show you. Follow me."

She slid off the bed and followed him to the outer room. But instead of walking to the outer doors, he went to the adjacent wall, opposite the windows. He pushed up a section of the chair rail, and a hidden door appeared, moving back into the room beyond.

It was a dressing room, hung with dozens of expensive gowns. A mirrored dressing table was against one wall, and beyond was another door.

"Please get dressed. You will find that all these dresses should fit you. Select one you like."

"I don't understand."

"All will be made clear. Go ahead."

She found a selection of undergarments in the dressing table and began slipping them on. The feel of the cloth against her skin was hot and itchy, so long had she been nude. She realized she almost preferred to be unclothed now. But presumably he had a reason for wanting her dressed.

He helped her into her corset, then an ornate beaded gown. Indeed, as he said, it was a perfect fit. The implications boggled her mind. As she finished her preparations, he stood back and admired her.

"Beautiful. Come."

She followed him into the room beyond, which proved to be another sitting room. That led into the hallway, where she followed him to the grand stairway and down to the first floor.

"Where are we going?"

"You will see in a moment."

He led her into a receiving room off the main hall. There she saw a man sitting on a couch, awaiting them. With an enormous, soul- wrenching shock, she realized she knew him.

"Father!"

She lurched toward him, then stopped. She glanced at her lover, then back at her father. She felt faint and grasped at her breast.

"What are you doing here?"

He smiled at her.

"I came to see how you were doing. I have been here for the last few days."

"But . . ." she glanced again at the man. "You know each other?"

"Of course. This is the Duke. Your husband."

She lost her balance and fell to the couch behind her.

"I do not understand."

The Duke approached and sat beside her.

"Elizabeth, I apologize for this deception, but it was necessary. Your father and I have planned this marriage for years, from when I first laid eyes on you. He warned me that you were proud and uncaring, but I sensed that there was a different person inside you, behind that pride. What I said was the truth. I wanted you to love me as I loved you. I knew that was not possible without such extreme measures. Your pride would not allow it. I had to break through to the person inside."

"But . . . why you could not tell me?"

"Answer that question on your own. Could you have let go of your old self so completely had you known the truth?"

She was still dizzy, but she saw he was right.

"No."

"It was the only way to make you love me, to show you the person you could be once you let go of your pride."

She had caught her breath by now, and looked up at her father.

"But your men . . . he killed them."

The Baron shook his head, smiling.

"A clever ruse. No one was harmed."

Elizabeth looked back at the Duke.

"And Karin and Greta?"

"Have been my guests this past month. They are staying in the far wing of the castle. They are well and have been asking after you."

A flash of anger grew in Elizabeth's head at being so thoroughly used and deceived. She looked back to her father.

"Will you please give us a moment?"

"Of course."

He stepped out of the room. When he was gone, she stood up from the couch and walked to the window. She heard the Duke come up behind her.

"Should I be angry with you?" she asked.

"Are you?"

"A part of me is. You were to be my husband. What gave you the right to do this to me?"

"You heard my explanation."

"And now I am neatly trapped, like a fly in amber. I have given you my virginity, so I cannot marry another."

She turned around and glared at him. A moment later, she slapped him, once, twice, three times. He stood stock still and took it.

"Does that make you feel better?"

She fought the pounding of her heart, trying to calm herself.

"You took my love under false pretenses."

"You would not have loved me otherwise."

She swirled away from him again, head spinning. Outside the window, she saw a narrow garden planted with roses. The blooms were mostly pale, but a few red flowers spotted the sheets of white.

"You make too much of your predicament, Elizabeth. I will not keep you here if you wish to leave, and with your father's money, I think he could easily find another match for you."

"I do not wish to marry another."

"What do you wish?"

"I wish . . . oh! You have gotten so far into my head that I cannot think clearly. I almost wish you were the bandit and rapist I thought you were. Then I would not be faced with these problems!"

She put her face in her hands and began to cry.

"Would that make you happier?"

She turned and leaned her head against his chest, sobbing quietly.

"You have tasted submission, and are not so ready to return to making decisions, I think."

After a few seconds, she leaned back, composing herself.

"When I think now of going back to being a noblewoman, a duchess, instead of . . . your plaything . . . I do not like it. And I hate myself for that. I hate you as well, I hate you even as I love you."

He regarded her calmly, a small smile on his face.

"One does not deny the other. You may be all three if you wish: my wife, my duchess, and my plaything."

She inhaled weakly.

"And what if I do?"

"You have only to say the word."

It took her long moments to do so.

"That is what I want."

He took her hand and kissed it.

"Then so it shall be."

XIX.

I wrote all of that after skipping my afternoon seminar and running home to finish the story. When I was done, I logged on. No Dani. I e-mailed it to her and waited, chatting with some other people I knew.

She appeared about twenty minutes later. I paged her.

"Hey babe =)"

"Hi. Is this the end?"

"Yes."

"Cool. I'll read it right now."

So I waited while she did.

"Oh, God," she paged me a few minutes later. "I wish you knew how horny I am right now."

I laughed.

"Sorry."

"Come over."

"Now?"

"You wait too long and you'll miss your chance."

"LOL, okay I'm on my way."

I logged off and went down to my car.

She met me at the door and kissed me immediately. I drew back after a few seconds.

"Where is Todd?"

"Out. Now do me. This instant."

I picked her up in my arms and carried her to her bedroom. We fell onto the bed, groping at each other's clothes until we were both naked. She immediately pulled me on top of her.

"Whoa, girl."

"That story was enough foreplay. Come on."

She grabbed at my penis, pulling me into her. I relented and thrust forward, finding her indeed quite wet and ready. After that, we lost ourselves in each other for about five minutes.

"Whew."

She laughed.

"I'm sorry. I just had to have you after reading that. I re- read the whole thing again while I was waiting for you to get here."

"Happy with it?"

"Yes. You understand now, I think."

"I finally figured out what my problem was."

"The signifiers?"

"Right."

"I won't ask. That stuff makes no sense to me. But I'm glad your thesis is working out."

"It is."

She rolled over, propping herself up on my chest.

"I talked to Mistress Rebecca last night."

"And?"

"She said we could borrow her dungeon on Sunday."

"You're sure about this?"

"More than ever. I want it like you can't imagine."

"Is she going to be there?"

"Mistress Rebecca?" She grinned. "Why? Do you want her there?"

"Do you?"

"No. Not this time at least. We'll have the place to ourselves."

"She actually has her own dungeon?"

"In her basement. She has a ton of stuff. More than we'd ever need."

"You've been there?"

"How else would I know?"

"Did you . . . with her?"

She laughed softly.

"Does that turn you on?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid to ask what you did."

"What do you think?"

"Just tell me."

"She had me and another girl. She worked us over together. I was pretty sore afterwards, but it was a lot of fun."

"I'll bet it was."

She grinned, breathing hard.

"This is getting me horny just talking about it."

"Give me a few more minutes."

She laughed again.

"No."

She slid down my chest and took me into her mouth.

Dani was finally sated about an hour later. Todd was still out, so she went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water, which we shared in her bed.

"Okay. This is the other thing I was going to mention before we got distracted."

I grinned.

"Distracted. Right."

"I don't want Sunday to be your first exposure to this. I want to be able to just go straight in and start."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to go over there beforehand so I can explain everything and Mistress Rebecca can demonstrate her equipment and anything else you don't understand. That way I don't have to stop in the middle to tell you anything."

"Okay. I guess that makes sense."

"She said tomorrow night would work for her."

"That should be fine."

She grinned.

"Wait 'til you see it."

XX.

Dani appeared at my apartment around seven the next night, and we drove to our destination.

"What do you know about Rebecca?"

"Mistress Rebecca. Don't forget the Mistress unless you want to get on her bad side."

I laughed.

"Okay. Mistress."

"You're wondering what kind of person maintains her own dungeon."

"Basically."

"Would it surprise you if I told you she was a corporate lawyer?"

"She is?"

"Yes. She works for a big firm downtown. She's rolling in money. It's how she can afford to indulge this fetish of hers. Just wait until you see this place."

"She's not married?'

"She was. She got divorced a few years ago. Her husband was kinky, though. That had nothing to do with why they split."

We drove up Wilshire Boulevard toward Beverly Hills. When we turned onto Santa Monica, we went another couple of blocks before reaching Mistress Rebecca's street. About a minute later, Dani directed me into the driveway of a broad, flat-roofed house braced by a row of Mexican palm trees. It looked like a "tear-down," a new house built on an existing lot, which you tended to see frequently in Beverly Hills.

We parked in front and stepped out. Mistress Rebecca met us at the door. She wore black slacks and a burgundy silk blouse, the top two buttons loose to expose her ample cleavage. I tried not to stare.

"Good evening, people."

Dani kissed her on the cheek.

"Mistress."

I shook her hand.

"So good to see you again, Danny. I was pleased to hear you and Danielle were still together. Please come in."

We followed her into the marble-floored foyer and thence back toward the kitchen.

"Can I offer you anything to drink?"

"It's all right," I said.

She snickered.

"Nonsense. If you want to be a Dom, you can't be shy about asking for what you want."

I laughed.

"All right. A beer would be good."

"Danielle?"

Dani smiled, glancing at me.

"Whatever pleases you, Mistress."

Rebecca looked to me.

"She usually gets white wine," I said.

"I know, but is that what you want for her?"

I smiled, beginning to get the idea.

"We can indulge her this once."

She returned the smile.

"White wine it is."

She spent a moment preparing our drinks before turning back to me.

"Shall we get started?"

"Sure."

She led us around to the back of the kitchen, where a door led to the basement. The lighting was not bright, and at first I thought this dungeon was not what Dani had led me to believe. The first thing I saw was the water heater, and after that, the furnace. Then I realized this was not the dungeon--only an anteroom of sorts.

Beyond the basement equipment was a painted cinder block wall with a single wooden door in the center. The door, painted bright red, was secured with a deadbolt lock. Mistress Rebecca produced a key and let us in.

The room was larger than I had expected, and little expense appeared to have been spared. It was probably thirty feet square, floored in rough gray stone. The same stone tiles faced the walls as well, going all the way to the fully drywalled ceiling, which had been painted red to match the door.

At first glance, the dungeon appeared to be a stylish exercise room, and I was fairly sure Mistress Rebecca had planned it that way-- ostensibly at least--with the contractors who had constructed it. But it was immediately clear that whatever exercise went on here was secondary, for it was filled not with Nautilus machines but racks, pillories, and a large wooden slab. One corner of the room was taken up by an iron-barred cell about five feet square. Dozens of whips, scourges, dildos, coils of rope, and other items I couldn't identify immediately hung from hooks on the walls. Two sets of bondage poles with adjustable crossbars took up another corner. The back wall, next to the cell, was taken up by manacles and other restraints. Steel eyebolts covered the ceiling, and in several places more manacles hung down.

As I looked around, I could begin to see the sorts of activities that were planned here. Seemingly endless variations of restraint and punishment were possible. My mind spun with the possibilities.

Dani stood next to me, grinning.

"Pretty neat, huh?"

"I'm impressed. A lot of work must have gone into this place."

"Indeed it did," Mistress Rebecca said. "You can't imagine the reaction I got from the contractor when I explained about that cell. I told him it was for my dogs, but I think he suspected otherwise."

"Well, in a sense it was, wasn't it?"

She smiled at me.

"Quite."

Dani walked to the rack.

"This is my favorite. Can we show him how it works, Mistress?"

"Why don't we?"

Dani backed up to it, spreading her legs and raising her arms into the air. As I watched, Mistress Rebecca demonstrated the restraints.

"As you can see, you have the option of restraining her head to foot or just wrists and ankles. For Danielle, I recommend using everything."

"Everything," Dani said.

Mistress Rebecca glanced at her, displeased.

"Be quiet, girl. You are a visual aid until we're finished here. Visual aids do not speak."

Dani grinned but said nothing. Mistress Rebecca continued.

"Now, if you look up here, you can see that you can raise or lower the upper restraints by pulling down on this cord. This way you can stretch out your submissive or even lift her off the floor if you wish."

"You'd have to detach the rest of it, though?"

"You can, but you don't need to. You might want to keep the ankle restraints in place. Why don't you try it?"

I released all the straps except at the wrist and ankles. Then I pulled down on the cords, stretching Dani out. She grinned at me, but I could tell she was getting turned on, even though she was still fully clothed and we were just demonstrating the equipment.

"Got it?"

"I think so."

She released Dani and led us to the stocks.

"These are fairly simple."

She lifted up the top half, and Dani bent down, placing her neck and wrists into the slots. Mistress Rebecca lowered the top and secured the latch.

"Now you are free to spank her or play with her from behind or whatever you wish."

She took down a cat o-nine-tails from the wall and swatted Dani on the butt. I glanced at Dani's face. Her eyes were closed, and her face was getting flushed.

"Try it."

Mistress Rebecca handed the whip to me, and I gave Dani a few playful swats. She moaned, half in jest but clearly half in arousal too. Rebecca freed her and led us to the back wall. She showed me how the manacles worked, again chaining Dani up.

"Simple but very effective, no?"

"I like it."

"Danielle especially enjoys this sort of thing."

"I can tell."

Then she led us to the bondage poles. She showed me how the crossbar went up and down, and then strapped Dani into the restraints, which had ropes attached, leading to pulleys in the ceiling and the corners of the poles.

"You should see how you can restrain her in a variety of positions, or lift her completely into the air if you wish. It's really only limited by your imagination."

I played around with the set-up for a few minutes, getting Dani bent over the crossbar with her arms pulled forward into the air. Mistress Rebecca smiled and reached under Dani to tweak her nipples.

"This is an excellent position for breast torment. You can attach weights to her nipples or swat them from below. It's also very good for spanking, since, as you can see, her buttocks are more pronounced."

"I've seen some pictures where people were tied to the crossbar, sort of suspended into the air by their elbows, tied up so they were hanging from the ropes."

She nodded.

"Rope bondage is more complicated. I'd wait until you have more experience. If you don't do it correctly, you can cause injury. But you're correct. There are any number of ways you can tie someone up with this arrangement."

She freed Dani and led her to the slab. Dani lay down and Mistress Rebecca demonstrated the restraints.

"They work more or less like the ones on the rack. What you can do here is more direct punishment, such as breast torment or tickling. It's not so good for flagellation, unless you want to swat her breasts or pubic mound. It's also good for dildo play and the like."

"Does she enjoy that?"

She smiled.

"Indeed she does. Would you like to look at those next?"

"Sure."

We left Dani where she was, and Rebecca showed me her collection.

"For obvious reasons, you must be careful to clean up after yourself if you want to use any of these. There is a bathroom outside with some disinfectant soap by the sink."

"Got it. What about nipple clips and that sort of stuff?"

She smiled again.

"We have plenty of those as well."

She led me to a bookcase in one corner, where she showed me her collection of clips, collars, leashes, nipple weights, and assorted other toys.

"I think I've got it," I said when she was done. "Is there anything else we need to do?"

"For now, I think we've hit the high points. There's certainly a great deal more you and Dani can do someday, but for starting out, this is plenty."

"Okay. Should we free the visual aid?"

"Why not?"

We returned to the slab and let Dani up.

"That's it," Mistress Rebecca said. "If you'd like to show him anything yourself, Danielle, now is the time."

"Thank you, Mistress."

Dani grinned at me.

"What do you think?"

"I think this should be a lot of fun."

"Okay. Like Mistress said, I like being strapped up to the rack or the manacles or the crossbars. Just like Elizabeth was."

Mistress Rebecca's eyebrows went up slightly.

"Elizabeth?"

"A story he wrote for me."

"I see."

"I like being spanked. Anything and everything in that department. If you want to get my butt all red and rosy, go for it."

"Okay."

"Breast torment, like she was talking about, is good too, but don't get carried away. You've got to be careful about my piercings. Twisting and pulling is fine, jerking on them is bad. That can really hurt, and I don't want to risk tearing anything out."

"Got it."

"But swatting my breasts, hanging weights from my nipples or my clit, all that is good. I like that."

"What about the dildos?"

"I like dildos too, but not until we've gotten a long way into it. Save that for the end."

"How do you want to do this? In terms of acting something out, I mean."

She took a breath and smiled.

"I want to act out that story. I'll be Elizabeth, you be the Duke. Just get into character and stay there. Pretend that you're the Duke and that you're trying to break me like he broke Elizabeth."

"Okay. I think that should be fun."

"You have to stay in character, okay? If you stop and ask me something, it will ruin it. Any questions you have, ask them now."

"How far back do you want to begin? Acting out the kidnapping might be hard."

She grinned.

"But we're going to do it. You'll pick me up at my place and we'll start the role-playing from there."

I thought about that for a moment or two.

"Elizabeth started out in a gown."

"And so will I. I'm going to use my bridesmaid dress from when my cousin got married last year. I'm never going to need it again, so why not?"

"You want me to rip it off you?"

"Just like in the story. Pick me up, bring me here, and take me down to the dungeon. Just like the Duke did to Elizabeth."

"Okay. I think I have the idea."

"Your safe word, Danielle," Mistress Rebecca said.

"Oh. Right. I explained about the safe word, remember?"

"Yeah."

"The word I like to use is 'rose.' Like the rose on my tit. Unless I say 'rose,' stay in character and don't stop what you're doing."

"But if you do, we stop?"

"Exactly."

I thought for a moment.

"I have an idea."

"What?"

"How about if you don't use your safe word unless you want to stop completely and go home? Not just if you want to take a break, or you want to tell me something."

Dani paled slightly in surprise, and a grin spread across Mistress Rebecca's face.

"My, my," Mistress Rebecca said. "I'm impressed."

"Oh, God," Dani said. "Okay, we'll do it that way. I won't use my safe word unless I want to quit. Which probably means I won't use it at all."

I returned her grin, and she turned to Mistress Rebecca.

"I guess we're done. Thank you so much, Mistress."

"My pleasure. I'll see you on Sunday, then?"

"Around seven, right."

Mistress Rebecca led us back up to the house and out to the front door.

"You can bring her in around the back," she said to me. "Since you should already be into this charade of yours, I'll meet you there but I won't interfere."

"Okay. Thanks. Mistress," I added, smiling.

"You're quite welcome. Good night."

XXI.

The ambush goes off just as I've planned, and the girl is soon safely restrained. My man, all in black, approaches with her. She wears a long scarlet gown, and her arms are bound securely behind her.

"Here she is," he says, a glint of amusement in his eye.

"Place her in the carriage."

Though she struggles, he is too strong for her. Once he has her in the seat, I take my place beside her, and we are soon underway.

She spits at me.

"You will pay for this. My father will not rest until he has found me."

I wipe the spittle from my mask.

"You will not be found."

She continues struggling but cannot get free. The mere sight of her restraint arouses me.

"You think me an evil person?"

"You are a kidnapper and a rapist. Your acts speak for themselves."

I stop the carriage for a moment and reach for her. I take the bodice of her gown in my hands and rip it apart, exposing her breasts. She screeches in outrage, but bound as she is, she can do nothing to stop me. I smile as she struggles, for her resistance makes her breasts bounce and jiggle beautifully.

"Think upon that during our journey."

She is silent until we reach our destination, though she continues to glare at me. I occasionally reach over to fondle a breast or tweak a nipple as I drive. My desire is painfully hard already, but we have a long night ahead of us.

I pull the carriage around behind the castle and bring it to a stop. The Mistress of the castle awaits us, and I savor the look of horror on my captive's face.

"Sir! If you have one ounce of decency, you will not expose me in this fashion."

"I expose you because it amuses me to do so."

I exit the carriage and lift her out of her seat. Her eyes are closed and a deep flush colors her face and chest. Her breath comes in rapid gasps. I lead her down into the Dungeon, and now she begins to struggle against me again.

"Sir! You cannot do this to me! I will not be treated like a common criminal!"

I ignore her for the moment, carrying her into the Dungeon as the Mistress closes the door behind us. I untie her, and though her struggles resume, she is not strong enough to stop me from securing her to the manacles in the ceiling. I stand back to admire her for a moment, her pretty breasts and long blonde hair. She jerks against the manacles but cannot get free.

I tear the remains of her dress from her body, leaving her naked. She shrieks in rage and humiliation. She tries to turn herself away, but there is little she can do now to stop me.

"You are polluted with faulty notions of pride, Elizabeth. It is that pride I must purge from you."

"What will you do with me?"

"You will see."

I find a mask in the rack of toys and secure it to her head. The loss of sight seems to inflame her further, and she gasps for breath as if suffocating. I touch her breast lightly, and the contact alone makes her jerk away from me in fear. I stand back to watch her dancing at the end of the chain, trying vainly to get free. She is flushed near from head to toe now, nipples fiercely erect, yet I have scarcely started. I know from the smell of her arousal that her resistance is not what it appears to be, and the scent arouses me even more. Part of me wishes to ravish her immediately, but I restrain myself as best I can.

I select a paddle from the wall and approach her from behind. She has no idea where I am now or what I plan, but she clearly anticipates something.

The first blow makes her cry out in pain, but I lay the second and third on her before she has any real chance to react. I continue the blows until her buttocks are red with irritation. Each time, she tries to turn away from me, tries to avoid the slap of the paddle, but she has no slack in the chain to move and can do nothing but accept my attentions.

I pause for a moment, listening to her ragged breath. Her legs have failed her, and she hangs limply from the manacles. I reach out to caress her inflamed buttocks, and she jerks from the pain of contact. I circle my hand around, reaching between her legs. She whimpers at my intrusion, but does nothing to stop me.

She is an inferno, so hot she almost scorches my fingers, and so wet I can scarcely feel her. The thought of it causes my erection to throb painfully. I tweak the hot button between her lips a few times and withdraw.

I free her from the manacles. She drops to the floor, making no move to flee. I take her arms and drag her to the rack. She realizes what I plan now, but is too weak to resist me. In a moment or two, I have her fully restrained.

The power is rushing through me now, and I lift the restraints, stretching her out on the rack. Her head hangs slackly from her neck, letting the long cascade of hair flow down behind her. I caress her buttocks gently, leaning in to kiss her neck.

"Let go, Elizabeth. Let go of your pride. Pleasure is within your grasp if only you will take it."

She does not answer me, so consumed by sensation is she now. I step back, selecting a narrow wooden strap from the wall. With it, I resume my torment of her helpless buttocks. She gasps at each blow, struggling weakly against her bonds.

Her behind is quite red and rosy, so I relent with the flagellation. I reach between her legs again, finding her fluids almost running out of her. Her thighs are wet with her secretions, and the smell of it, hot and musky, rises into the air between us.

I stroke her gently from behind, kissing her neck as before. She gasps for breath, crying out now, but before she begins to shudder in release, I withdraw my fingers. She moans in frustration, and I cannot help but smile.

When I step back, she has gone completely limp. I free her from the rack, and she collapses into my arms. I carry her across the room to the bondage poles, and she does not resist me as I tie her in place, pulling her forward until her breasts hang down helplessly.

I leave her like that for a moment or two, then remove her mask. Her face is dripping with sweat, and her eyes roll around, not coming to rest on me for a few moments. Again, I am awash in the need to ravage her, and I must struggle against it to maintain control.

"What do you want from me?" she gasps.

"I want your pride, Elizabeth. Let go of it."

She stares at me, fear in her eyes, but does not respond. I return to the collection of toys and gather the items I need.

The first is a phallus, which I slip into her from behind. She gasps at the penetration, trying to escape me, but cannot.

"Hold on to that. Do not let it fall."

I feel her trying to grip it from within. It remains in place for now. I circle around in front of her and attach a set of weights to her nipples and clitoris. Her flesh stretches out under these attentions, and her face begins to burn in mortification.

I want to spank her again, but as sensitive as she is now, my hand is all that is necessary. I give her a few gentle swats, each one greeted by a sharp cry of pain and pleasure. The skin of her buttocks is taut and swollen, burning with irritation. I work the phallus in and out as I spank her, and she begins to lose control of herself. Again, I stop before the critical point, leaving her on the brink. She whimpers, squirming against the restraints. I am as close to release as she is, and I pause for a moment to calm myself.

I leave the phallus in place but remove the weights. I select a riding crop from the wall and return to my captive. Her head is hanging down limply from her shoulders.

"Please," she moans, "do not beat me further. Tell me what it is I must do."

"All right. I will tell you what it is I desire. I want you to love me."

She gasps, and her head lifts upward in alarm. I see words filling her face, but she says nothing.

Using the riding crop, I begin tormenting her breasts and pubic mound. Gentle swats are enough for me now, but from her reaction, one might think I was using a barbed scourge. I work my way back behind her again, seeing that the phallus has begun to slip out. I push it back in with the end of the crop, then let the tip of it slide forward until I am tickling her clitoris. She gasps at the contact, shuddering, and I stroke her gently with the end of the crop. I pay close attention to her reactions, bringing to the edge repeatedly, but I do not let her cross it.

My desire is almost painful now, and I can wait no longer. I free her from the bondage poles and carry her to the slab. She lies there limply as I restrain her.

"Elizabeth."

She moans.

"I will release you now, should you so desire. Is that what you wish?"

She whimpers.

"Answer me."

"No."

"What is it you desire?"

"Love me," she whispers.

"I do."

"No. Love me. Bed me. Make love to me."

I free my erection and climb onto the slab above her. She is so wet now that I am inside her with scarcely any effort. She grips me with the only free muscles she has. I push forward into her, bottoming out.

"Elizabeth," I moan.

"I love you. I love you."

I begin to ride between her thighs, my control swiftly dissolving, but it hardly matters. She is so oversensitized now that she erupts at once underneath me, crying out in painful release. I am closing in on my own climax now, near ready to burst.

"Danny . . ."

The sound of my other name breaks my rhythm for a moment, but I am too far gone to stop now.

"Dani," I gasp.

"I love you . . . I love you."

I groan in release, past the point of being able to answer her. As she climaxes again, my seed rises in a torrent, passing into her in a spasm of thrusts. She whimpers under me, trying to kiss me, and I let her. We lay together, catching our breath, as the last of this experience burns within us.

XXII.

"Well," Mistress Rebecca said. "Did we enjoy ourselves?"

"Completely," Dani said. "Thank you so much."

We were in the kitchen upstairs, sharing a glass of wine with the "Mistress of the castle." I was leaning against the island, and Dani was leaning back against me, too sore to sit down. She wore a loose slip dress I had brought with me.

"You certainly made enough noise."

I laughed.

"Sorry."

"It wasn't a problem. I enjoyed knowing you two were having fun."

"We did."

"Well, now that you've lost your virginity, Danny, are you ready to explore things further?"

"As long as I have as eager a partner as I had tonight."

I hugged Dani, and she hugged my arms.

"Any time."

"Did you mention my suggestion to him?" Mistress Rebecca asked.

"I wanted to wait until after tonight."

"What's the suggestion?"

Dani turned around, linking her arms around my waist.

"Do you remember how I said I didn't want the Mistress to be with us tonight, but I might later?"

I took a slow breath.

"Yes."

"This is just an idea, because I know you don't think you're into submission, but I'd like you to at least consider it."

"What?"

"Submitting with me. Together. Letting the Mistress dominate us like you did tonight."

It took me a second to answer her. I had never thought of that possibility.

"I'm not sure I understand."

Mistress Rebecca smiled.

"Danny, relax. She's not talking about a threesome. She's talking about the two of you being together under my supervision. I've done this plenty of times before. Sex with me would not be involved."

I suddenly saw what she meant. And though I had not seen anything arousing in submission before tonight, I realized this might be something else. I had to take a deep breath and steady myself.

Dani saw my reaction and smiled.

"What do you think?"

"I think . . . it might be worth trying."

Mistress Rebecca patted my shoulder.

"Just give it some thought and get back to me. I know I would enjoy it."

We drove home with Dani holding my hand and leaning against my shoulder.

"How did Todd react to this thing?"

"Bringing me outside like that? He thought it was funny. He even helped tie me up."

"I really enjoyed myself tonight. Even more than I expected."

"Me too. You were wonderful. It was just like the story. I lost myself in it completely."

I inhaled slowly.

"Well . . . until the end."

She didn't answer me immediately.

"I meant what I said."

"Okay. So did I."

She squeezed my hand but said nothing more.

XXIII.

"I'm impressed, Danny. This is some solid work you've done here."

"Thank you."

Phoebe Larson flipped through the last few pages of the draft and outline for my thesis, then set it on her desk. Outside her window, the rose bushes swayed back and forth, blown by cold December winds.

"Perspective, then," she said. "Is that what it's about?"

"Right. It's all about context. When kinky people talk about domination, submission, and especially resistance, they aren't using those words in the way straights understand them."

"It's just a fantasy."

"Well, it goes beyond that. When you say, 'it's just a fantasy,' you aren't really explaining anything because that word doesn't change the connotations of domination and submission. Straights don't get the fantasy because they have a different understanding of domination than kinky people do. To most people, domination implies that you're enforcing your will on someone else, no matter what it is that person might want. It's analogous with rape to them. That isn't what's really going on. It's the complete opposite of rape."

"Go on."

"'Domination' in the BDSM context has a lot of connotations. It refers to a role rather than an action. The same with 'submission.' The person who is submitting may well be the person who is completely in charge, even though they may be fantasizing that they aren't. Straights don't understand it that way. To most people, the connotation of 'submission' is giving up, giving in. In a way, a submissive is doing that, but not the way other people might understand it."

"And how does erotica fit into this?"

I took a breath and continued.

"When you descend into a piece of BDSM fiction, the connotations change again. 'Submission' in a story generally isn't the same as 'submission' in real life, but neither is it what the standard connotation is. In the BDSM erotica context, 'submission' contains an understanding that the person submitting is enjoying it, or at least getting something out of it on some level, even though they may not be doing it willingly. Likewise with 'domination' and 'slavery' and 'humiliation' and all those other concepts you find in BDSM fiction."

"I see."

"At the core of all this, and this is what took me so long to understand, is the connotation of resistance."

"How so?"

"If you can pin down how resistance is understood in any situation, you know where you are. The understanding of resistance is what defines domination and submission."

"So if it's resistance in the sense that we're just pretending, then that would mean it's real-life, whereas resistance in the sense that the person really is resisting, except that it's assumed that they will ultimately submit, that's erotica?"

"Right. The understanding of resistance is at the center of BDSM. Where there is a complete absence of resistance, there's nothing to dominate and nothing to give up by submitting, no matter whether you're talking about real life or erotica. But if you inject the standard connotations of resistance into BDSM, it no longer works. Erasing this special definition of resistance erases the BDSM understanding of domination and submission. Resistance is the signifier that defines everything else. And because straights have an understanding of 'resistance' that doesn't include any of these concepts, they don't get BDSM."

She smiled

"So many complications in getting off."

"It goes beyond getting off. There are plenty of people in long term relationships, people truly in love, who practice BDSM."

"I believe so."

And I know so, I thought. But that didn't really need saying at this point.

"The reason straights don't understand that is because the conventional connotations of resistance are so alien to the conventional notion of love. The BDSM connotations aren't."

She nodded.

"No. Apparently not."

"So instead you get straights trying to psychoanalyze BDSM and read all sorts of sinister meanings into it, like low self-esteem, latent aggression, childhood sexual abuse, and all sorts of stuff like that. They don't realize that the cultures are simply speaking two different languages."

She nodded again.

"Good."

"So I think I know where I'm going to go with this now."

She picked up the outline again and turned a few pages, reading something.

"This dominant you mention . . . "

"Mistress Rebecca."

"Is she a tall woman, with black hair and blue eyes? A lawyer? She would be about forty by now."

My jaw dropped slowly. I hadn't described her at all in my discussion.

"Yes."

Phoebe smiled.

"I think perhaps I might have known her once. You didn't happen to catch her last name?"

"Powell."

The smile broadened.

"One of my college roommates was named Rebecca Powell. We've since lost touch, but we were close at one time."

As I stared at her in amazement, the college professor sitting in front of me slowly morphed into something else.

"Was she . . . ?"

"Back then?" She chuckled softly. "Nothing you need to be concerned with, Danny. Let's not lose our perspective here."

Life imitating art? Art imitating life? You tell me. I'd like to say, "we lived happily ever after," just like Elizabeth and the Duke, but real life is a bit more complicated than that. You can't tie up a relationship like you can tie up a story. What you can do, though, is keep writing sequels, of a sort. I'll even help start it for you: "Once upon a time, there was a submissive named Danielle, who loved her master Danny as much as she loved being tied to a rack . . ."

Go on. You can take it from there. Love is quite a signifier, after all.

THE END

* * *

AFTERWORD

The textbooks that Danny refers to in this story, "S/Z" and "Le Plasir de Texte," actually exist. Their author, Roland Barthes, was a French sociologist and lexicographer who lived from 1915 to 1980. Barthes is regarded as one of the founding fathers of semiotics, the analytical technique Danny discusses throughout this work.

The careful reader may be tempted to think that she has gained a general understanding of semiotics after reading this story, but this is a temptation to be resisted. Semiotics is a fiendishly difficult discipline requiring years of study to master. The glimpse I have given here is but a fraction of a fraction: a fraction of my own understanding of it, which is itself only a sliver of the whole. Onto this, I have also grafted a certain amount of literary license.

Why employ such an arcane device for a piece of erotica? I thought it a neat trick. Barthes long sought to free literary analysis from what he saw as the bondage of our traditional understanding of language. Why not put his tools to work on a different sort of bondage? In the process, I might be able to breathe a bit of life into a technique long derided by graduate students as dry and lifeless. Thus the lengthy analyses of BDSM, erotica, and Danielle's tattoo collection. I like to think I succeeded to some extent, and I hope you enjoyed this somewhat unorthodox piece.