New Animal, Ella Baxter [best books to read for success .txt] 📗

someone. I guess there’s no formal way in regard to knots; it’s more about positioning. I jog over to the buckets in the corner of the room and select some lengths of rope.

‘I’m going to tie you up.’

‘Alright,’ he says doubtfully.

I tie his hands together, and then bind them to his knees. The knots seem a little clumsy, which is embarrassing, because he probably knows proper defence force knots. I’m not sure how to communicate the final posture, but it would be good if he folded over a little more.

‘Look at me,’ I say, using three fingers to slap him on the head. ‘Do you love this?’ I ask. Kneeling over him, I can see how much blood is stuck in the hair follicles on his face.

‘It’s alright.’

‘Which part?’

He looks around the room. ‘The setting?’ His eyes focus on me. ‘You?’

There’s a sudden commotion as the door is thrown open by Tanya, who is clutching her forehead with both hands.

‘Off!’ she barks at me. ‘Get off! We’re so sorry, Carl; she’s new.’

A middle-aged woman appears behind her, looking equally stressed.

I frown at them both while unfolding from my low squat. They have broken the fourth wall here—and I did check the room had a drain before committing to anything. I look at Carl for support, but he’s asking Tanya for a towel.

‘I need one too,’ I say.

‘Bronwyn, get her out of here,’ Tanya says.

The second woman glares at me. ‘Follow me, you fucking lunatic.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bronwyn’s office may have originally been a supply closet, judging by how small and windowless it is. There are piles of paperwork on the desk, surrounded by open folders and crumpled receipts. Next to a potted fiddle fig, there’s a flogger dangling from the corner of a framed Certificate II in Management.

‘You have to shake your fig,’ I say.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Fiddle figs like to be shaken daily—it helps them grow.’

She puffs out her cheeks as she exhales. ‘What you did to Carl was out of line. You’re lucky this industry is so unregulated, otherwise we could be sued.’ She hangs her head while making a series of dots on a piece of paper in front of her, then drops her pen and leans back in the chair, pushing her palms into her eye sockets.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she says.

‘Was it the blood?’ I say, slowly realising that I provided a lot of content for just one session. I could have done less, and the disappointment of getting it wrong sits in my gut like a stone. I’m sure the shame will come; not right away, but sometime later, and I dread it already.

‘What part was too much?’ I begin to cry. I am perched on the very edge of the office chair, so as not to get it dirty, but my legs are beginning to ache, and I feel suddenly very naked. I cross my arms over my body to hide myself.

Tanya walks in, wrestling open a packet of wet wipes which she hands to me, motioning towards my legs, and I clutch the packet to my stomach.

‘Carl will be okay, but he isn’t very happy. All that blood is very triggering for him,’ she says.

Bronwyn nervously tosses a small box of staples from hand to hand. ‘If you want to be a good domme, you need to work very hard at not taking advantage of vulnerable people. Did Tanya tell you it’s an art form?’ She looks at Tanya, who nods enthusiastically.

‘It is an art. Like karate. Or chess.’

‘I’m sorry, but don’t we dominate?’ I ask. ‘Isn’t that the play? The performance?’

Tanya answers, ‘Yes, of course, but there’s a line where it can become too much for people.’

‘So we are just doing what the sub wants, then, not actually directing the scene ourselves?’ My tone is ruder than I intended, but I’ve learned that if you want to fix it, you have to keep going in the same tone, and then gradually lighten it. It’s far weirder to stop and say, Sorry, that was rude.

Bronwyn chimes in, ‘It’s simple! You pay your membership fee, tell them they’re naughty, stamp on their fingers, then send them home.’

I scrunch up my face. ‘Does anyone agree on what we are doing here?’

‘Well, it’s all to do with feminism, obviously,’ says Tanya. ‘And sex, and power.’ She nods. ‘And community spirit.’

A severe-looking young woman appears behind Tanya, who turns to acknowledge her. The woman’s make-up has been expertly applied, and I have immediate respect for her: she’s worked hard to blend that well. She looks like a beautiful river duck masquerading as a human. Each eyebrow is a thick arch, and each eyelid a half-moon of shimmer. I see pure poetry on her face, and I find myself leaning forward to get a closer look at her. A wave of jealousy curls inside me, before a small decision replaces it: I will just slowly transform into a version of her. Some women are just so gorgeous that they cause a sea of ripples in the feminine current around them.

‘Ah, Vlad, this is Amelia—the new girl,’ Bronwyn huffs, letting the box of staples drop onto her desk. ‘Amelia, this is Vlad. She’s one of our more experienced dommes; she’s been a member here for about five years.’

‘Since the eve of my eighteenth birthday,’ Vlad says cheerily, and the sentence hangs between us all.

Vlad looks at me casually, while I gaze back at her, trying to analyse the colour on her cheeks. It looks like nectarine with flecks of gold, but I can’t tell for certain in this lighting.

‘Welcome to the family,’ she says, and I realise it’s her bone structure that’s creating a lot of the drama.

‘There are a few of us out back waiting for a debrief, if either of you is available?’ She looks between Bronwyn and Tanya.

‘I am,’ I say. ‘I would love to have a bit of a tete-a-tete.’ I wipe my cheeks and start to stand, ready to finally experience this elusive aftercare.

‘No,’