In his own words, “I want his knees to hit cold tile, not fucking rubber. When he thinks he’s alone and wondering when we’re coming back, I want him to hear the waterdrops from the tap that won’t shut properly. I want his voice to echo.”
Combined with sleep deprivation and hunger, not to mention the fact that Shay had recently downed a bottle of water and hadn’t been to the bathroom in a couple hours, it was bound to be a taxing day.
River shoved Shay into the room where every breath and footstep was enhanced by the acoustics of the space.
I stayed in the doorway, even though the first shift would be mine, and folded my arms over my chest. Shay was forced down onto his knees. Legs kicked apart, naked as the day he was born, the sack over his head, some dirt and grass under his feet, hands cuffed behind his back, and a light sheen of perspiration turning his heavily inked back into a gleaming work of art.
“Do you remember your safeword?” River asked, all business.
“Y-yes, Sir,” Shay stammered. “I’ll use it, I promise. Red, yellow, green.”
Good boy. Pride swelled in my chest.
“You’ll also grade the pain in your hands on a scale from one to ten,” River ordered. “This isn’t rope bondage—there’re no nerves getting pinched, so don’t be surprised when your hands tingle and go numb. But if circulation is cut off—if your hands become cold—you call out ten right away. Try to flex your hands and form fists every now and then. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir. I will keep the circulation going. I understand the pain scale.”
“Good. Unless anything goes wrong, just holler when the pain reaches eight on your scale.”
“I will, Sir.”
Fuck, I couldn’t describe the relief at hearing how seriously Shay was taking it. It meant everything and chipped away at a lot of my worry.
“Maybe you’re not completely worthless.” River signaled to me, and I stepped inside the room to take my seat on the built-in tile bench along the western wall. I’d made sure to change into sweats and a tee as a way to guarantee nothing would make a sound. My iPad and a bag of supplies waited for me on the bench. “We’ll be back later,” River told Shay.
On his way out, he tossed me the remote to the stereo, and I nodded in return.
I knew the drill.
Time for River to get some rest back at the cabin. Well, a series of power naps, at least. If nothing else, being in our bed would help.
Before the door closed, I stretched out my legs and crossed them at the ankles, ready to chill out and watch time fly. A silence blanketed the room, the kind that made your ears ring and question whether or not you had tinnitus.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to read Shay’s mind now. It was way too soon for him to feel frightened. He was a smart young man, and he probably knew he’d be here for some time. This was only one of the many tools to fuck with Shay’s head, to make him lose his mental footing.
He cleared his throat. “Are you guys still here?”
I glanced down at the iPad. River had thought of everything. He’d placed the tablet inside one of his rubber cases, another way to prevent noise.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, you know?” Shay went on. “I know you wouldn’t leave me.”
What else do you know, baby boy?
This was going to get interesting, perhaps sooner than I’d expected.
Some people felt the need to fill the silence. More often than not—in kink—it was subs. Whether they were nervous about a scene and rambled, or they felt the need to “help out” by killing awkwardness or bridging a gap of any sort, it wasn’t rare to get a sub to talk just by giving them an unwavering stare.
It was fun.
“I guess, maybe… Is that it? Do you have a webcam?” Shay asked.
I felt my mouth twist upward.
It made sense for him to analyze things first. He wasn’t the type to merely wait and see what happened; he wanted to understand and figure things out.
* * *
About twenty minutes later, Shay had slumped down on his ass after proclaiming, “You didn’t say I had to kneel the whole time.”
He’d yawned approximately two thousand times…
Safe to say, he wasn’t very worried. Meaning, his guard was probably lowered.
I placed the remote on my thigh, staring at the digits on it. If I pressed four, “Bestrafe Mich” by Rammstein would blare out of the speakers on the highest volume. My brother’s subtle humor would probably be lost on Shay, unless he knew that the title of the song meant “Punish me.” If I pressed five, there would be a recording of a studio audience laughing uproariously. Button number six wasn’t as heart-attack-inducing. That track started with a single breath and slowly morphed into several people panting and gasping.
Those were the three buttons River had designated for this part.
“How fucking long am I supposed to wait?” Shay snapped. “Y’all said we were starting yesterday. And all you did was forbid me to sleep. Great. Just great. Some Sadists you are.”
I pressed a fist to my mouth to prevent any laughter from slipping out. Unfortunately, the urge to clear my throat rose too fast for me to suppress it, so I had no choice but to use the audio. I pressed play on the fourth track, and the shower room was instantly flooded with loud, grinding guitars, furious drums, heavy bass, and dark, German lyrics.
The ear-piercing onslaught startled Shay, and he ducked his head as if something were coming at him.
I coughed into my fist and cleared my throat. Since the track was playing, I took the opportunity to dig out my water bottle and quench my thirst too. Then I got settled once more and turned off the music, leaving us in
