Ruby

 

 

 

He doesn't tie me up this time. Instead, he hands me a bag of potato chips and a sandwich. He seems to ignore my blushed cheeks, and I drop my eyes to the floor in an effort to hide my shame from peaking so easily at his command, and as soon as he sets the food down in front of me, he leaves the room.

I'm curled up on a love seat in the far corner of the basement. It‘s the only upholstered piece of furniture in this room that allows for comfortable sitting. I have nothing to wear, since he tore the clothes off my body, and I‘m naked with nothing to cover myself with but the big bath towel.

I also don't have my purse. He must have taken it away from me when I was unconscious. This needs to be rectified. The contract explicitly indicated that I'm allowed to bring one personal item with me, something that can calm me when the challenge of being with him becomes too overwhelming. He's aware of that because he agreed to the terms, which is why I'm sure he'll return it to me when I ask him about it.

My eyes study the room as I munch on the potato chips. After he left, I opened the curtains to allow in a little daylight. Anything so that I can switch off that damn ceiling light. It's way too bright, almost clinically so. The room is only dimly lit now, but it‘s still more pleasant than it was before. Next to the stretching bench and the St. Andrew‘s Cross, I notice there‘s an upholstered bench that I know is designed for bondage and spanking. I've been tied up on one of those before, but I didn't enjoy it very much.

The dark walls are lined with a variety of sex toys on open display: paddles, riding crops, whips, chains, and cuffs. I leave the potato chips behind and get up from the love seat, wandering over to peer curiously into the glass cabinet at the other end of the room next to the St. Andrew‘s Cross. Vibrators, dildos, gag balls, and things I can't even describe are displayed in an orderly fashion. Everything is sparkling so brilliantly that they appear to have never been used.

My heart is racing. I wonder if he'll use all of these on me? What will he start with?

I flinch and jump away from the cabinet when I hear the door opening behind me.

His dark smile greets me when I turn around. He's still wearing dark blue jeans and a simple white shirt. The fabric stretches seductively over his strong muscles.

Butterflies. I never understood what people meant about having this sensation of butterflies fluttering in one's tummy. Maybe this is what they meant, the twisting turmoil that spreads through my center like a rocket whenever he approaches me. It's not just fear, but excitement - and a strong desire to be closer to him.

"Curious?" he asks, nodding toward the glass cabinet behind me.

"Is that wrong?"

He shakes his head and reaches forward, loosening the towel that's wrapped around my naked body. I watch as it drops to the floor.

"I want my purse back," I say in a low voice, without looking up.

"No," he replies, his tone allowing for no back-talk.

I look up then defiantly to meet his dark gaze. "Yes, you must return it to me. It has my special item."

He knits his eyebrows together, tilting his head to the side with an expression of confusion on his face.

"Special item?"

"You know...," I murmur. "The one that I was allowed to bring with me. It's a bracelet."

"The one you were allowed to bring with you?" he repeats. "Allowed by whom?"

I fixate my defiant stare on him for a few moments, trying to figure out whether he's messing with me. Why does he keep doing this? I was told that this assignment could only work if certain terms were agreed upon beforehand. It would destroy the whole arrangement if I was forced to verbalize the contract now that I'm here. He must know that, especially since he agreed to the terms?

"Please," I repeat. "Just give me my purse. Or at least give me back my bracelet."

"Bracelet?"

I sigh. "It's my special item. I want to have it."

The agency told me that I was allowed to ask for my bracelet at any time. I didn’t need to give a reason why I wanted it, I didn’t need to launch into a full discussion, all I had to do was ask for it. I wasn’t wearing it the night he took me because I was afraid of losing it during the struggle, the struggle I was expecting but never happened. It's not worth more than twenty dollars from a monetary perspective, but the personal and sentimental value to me is priceless.

The bracelet was given to me by my friend Isabel, the only true friend I ever had, and the only person who stood by me the entire four years I fought my way through college. Isabel was also the one who introduced me to this line of work. More than that, though, she was the one friend who shared my desire to get an education, against any and all odds. We exchanged matching bracelets on the day we graduated from college, each one having two charms that mean the world to us, two little black hearts, just like our own.

It's my one big reminder that I'm more than this, more than just a high-class escort, and that it's okay for me to be both the only girl with a college degree in my family, and the person who likes making a living by selling her body to men. It's two distinct worlds clashing, one never accepting the other, but yet my heart continues holding on to both.

"You still don't understand," he says, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders. The look in his eyes is unyielding and cold, but his touch feels warm and oddly comforting. "You don't get to decide, and you don't get to ask for favors."

I gasp.

"This is not negotiable," I insist. "That bracelet. I'm allowed to ask for it, no ifs, ands, or buts."

He chuckles. "Says who?"

"It was in the contract!" I blurt out. I don't care if I'm breaking the rules here, because so is he. He started it by belittling me like this.

He fixates on me through narrowed eyes. "We never signed a contract, toy."

My heart feels like it stops beating for a few seconds as I process what he just said. Is this another game he's playing with me? Does he get off on openly acting as if this was a real kidnapping and I’m being held here against my will?

"Get down on your knees."

His command hits me like a slap to the face. My legs bend on instinct, but I fight the urge to obey. I can't, I shouldn't. This is not okay, and as much as I wish I could just ignore the fact that he's obviously unwilling to stick to the most basic rules set up between us, I just can't.

"No," I tell him. "I want my bracelet."

"Stop being ridiculous, toy," he hisses, closing in on me. I'm torn between the desire to touch him, to please him, to be pleased by him - and the knowledge that doing so would hurt my credibility and what little dignity I manage to preserve through all of this.

"If you're not going to play by the rules, then neither will I," I huff, and for once, my voice carries conviction.