When I re-entered the room, I took a greedy glance around. A thrill wound up in me, reveling in the feeling that I was probably somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to be.
Again, I took in my surroundings and was impressed with them again: The bed I now noticed had an intricate iron pattern on the headboard — ideal for tying someone to. There were four posters, all with hooks on them. It was clear that ropes could be threaded through and around them for restraining people.
The thought of that… of me being restrained, and Adam on top of me on that bed was enough to procure that stirring in my lower gut. I wanted that. I wanted to be… to be dominated by him.
I walked over to the bed and touched the beautiful red duvet cover gently as if it were a rare wild animal that might run out of my life if I spooked it. Casting my eyes upwards, I checked out the rig. It was this black metal cage with all of these… these stirrups hanging off of it.
For a moment, I was picturing myself strapped in there as Adam would have his way with him. Adam would make me beg for it.
The thought had me practically drooling.
So, the bed with all of its restraints and stuff on it was fine — that didn’t provoke the anxiety monster sleeping in my gut. The rig above was fine; I could look at that and picture myself hanging in it and feel desire.
But I had to find the cage.
Even the thought of finding it was setting off alarm bells in my head.
I pictured Adam again, and it calmed down the mental noise a little. He was a bastion of calm; a lighthouse in my dark mind, guiding me to the shore from the turbulent waters of my own subconscious fear.
Taking in a deep breath, I continued to inspect the room, trying to figure out where the cage might be. I didn’t know how large or small the cage was — could it fit under the bed?
I got on all fours and peeked under there. There were boxes of… of stuff tucked away under there, but no cage. I looked around the furniture for anything that might be the size to contain a fully-grown man and found nothing.
But then, there was a door that I hadn’t noticed before on the other side of the room.
My eyes narrowed. Something in me knew that it had to be in there.
Steeling myself, I crossed the room and turned the knob.
Locked.
Suddenly, I was possessed by this insatiable curiosity. What could be behind there?
I pressed my ear against the door. There was a quiet humming coming from behind it. Humming that could have easily just been house noises.
My shoulders sank a little, thinking that nothing was interesting behind this door at all; that there was probably a water heater or something.
I didn’t like that I’d probably reached the end of the surprises in this house. Not that the playroom was underwhelming or anything -- quite the opposite. But one of the fun things that I loved the most about all of my research on BDSM stuff was the simple fact that there was always more to discover.
And the thought that the playroom might be the end of the tunnel, was vaguely disappointing to me.
I tried to make sense of my feelings, then was interrupted as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
As I plucked it out, I was holding my breath hoping it was Adam. But then I frowned when I saw it was from mom.
“Where are you?! I just stopped home and you weren’t there!”
Shit.
The last thing I wanted her to do was to call the cops again, so I texted back immediately:
“I’m out with a friend,”
As I hit send, one of my eyebrows went up. There was something strange about how she was texting me with worry in the middle of the day — usually, that happened at night the rare times I wasn’t in the house after the sunset.
The message didn’t go through. I’d have to go upstairs.
Once I’d ascended the spiral staircase into the real world again, I closed the bookshelf behind me with a satisfying click. It sounded like it automatically locked.
Entering the kitchen, I tried sending the message again. This time, thankfully, it went through.
She texted back immediately, “I need you home right now,”
I rolled my eyes and texted back, “Mom, I’m busy. Can’t it wait?”
Then she texted back, “Your father and I are getting a divorce!”
My stomach dropped. I pictured her crying on the couch, all alone.
She needed me.
Somehow, that feeling of being needed kept my anxiety at bay. I dutifully opened my Lyft app and summoned a car.
A few minutes later, the driver was pulling up to Adam’s house. I gathered up my messenger bag and went outside.
As I got into the backseat of the car, I was surprised that the monster deep in my gut was behaving. I felt absolutely no anxiety of all: No rushing of my pulse, no sped up breathing.
Maybe the reality hadn’t sunken in yet. Maybe I was in denial.
But I knew one thing: Feeling like I was needed; like I had to help someone, made my mind clear as day.
Just as I had that thought, there was smoke in the distance.
That’s when the fear in my gut started to prickle as if I’d swallowed a cactus.
“What’s going on over there, I wonder?” The driver said.
The smoke billowing into the air drew closer and closer. After a few seconds, it became clear that whatever was on fire would be on our route.
Sure enough, a few more seconds passed and we were slowed down in traffic. A house on the side of the quiet country road was on fire. There were firefighters gathered around it and police cars everywhere.
Then I saw, in uniform, Adam standing among them.
Seeing him like that, in his uniform with that air of authority, got me… it got me going, to say the least.
8
Adam
I got
