A SOUNDPROOF ROOM WITH A VIEW
Leigh Edward Gray

We’re going to Brooklyn.”

“What’s in Brooklyn?”

“A soundproof room. You know, in the boroughs, no one can hear you scream.”

She had known there was an apartment with a soundproof room in Brooklyn that he took girls to, but knowing she was now the girl made her imagination run wild. Was it a basement apartment? She had seen a scene or two by this time, but somehow she always imagined them in a dungeon.

“I hardly think I’ll be screaming.”

“Never say never. You did say not to go easy on you.”

Right. Why had she said that again? It was right after he had sent her a checklist of all the things they could do together, some predictable, some she had never heard of, some that sounded downright scary. There was a place for her safeword, a place for names she was uncomfortable with, a place for hard and soft limits in case the checklist wasn’t extensive enough. She had seen doctors with less thorough paperwork. She worried that all the negotiations might take the fun out of things, but seeing how seriously he took it was exciting. She had been spanked, tied up and blindfolded before, but this wasn’t going to be a few love taps before lovemaking. This would be the real thing, the real submission that she had longed for.

She never thought she’d be doing it with her ex, however. The relationship was over, in the ground for going on three years now, but the friendship had pulled through. She had been there to see his progress from first-timer to self-assured dominant, though she had missed the signs at first. He was careful with her, once they were just friends. She hadn’t realized just how careful until she’d seen him with someone else.

After some cajoling, some whining, some reasoning and some scheming, she finally convinced him to take her to one of the parties he kept so secret. She wasn’t sure if it was the whip or if it was him holding the whip that was so exciting, or maybe just the cries and marks of the girl in front of him. But she hadn’t even been able to wait twenty-four hours before she asked him. Stumbling over her words, blushing like she hadn’t since the mid-’90s, she had only been able to ask if he would do “all that stuff” to her. That had gotten her the checklist.

Less than an hour after she sent it back, he told her—no asking for him—to meet him for dinner. It was a strange meal. She didn’t know if she was to act normally or to be submissive. Now, in the car outside her building, it was a relief to bring it out in the open.

“So I’ll be picking you up at ten tomorrow morning. You’re going to be wearing a collar when we’re together in the room. Would you like to see it?”

“Okay.”

He reached into the back and retrieved a black leather collar, on the heavy side, with a ring at the front and a serious buckle at the back. “Do you want to try it on?”

She licked her lips, looking around at the dark street. It was empty, but… “Here?”

“Yes, here.”

She eyed the collar again. “Okay.” She leaned forward and felt the collar at her neck a moment later, tightening as he fastened it in place. “Not too tight?”

“No.”

His hand stayed on her neck, rubbing just above the collar in a slow stroke. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll be wearing this tomorrow. When I put it on, we’ll begin. When I take it off, we’re done. Three rules when you’re in the collar: one, you will call me ‘Sir.’ Two, you will stay quiet unless I tell you to speak. Three, you will not come unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. If you break any of those rules, you will regret it. We won’t do anything you didn’t say was okay or anything we didn’t talk about. If you need to stop or take a break, you’ll say your safeword. What is your safeword?”

“Pineapple.”

“And you’ll say it when?”

“Whenever I need to stop or take a break.”

“Good. If you can’t speak, you’re going to snap three times. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to gag you. You’ll learn to be quiet and I bet if I tell you to keep your mouth open for me, you will. Right?”

She looked down. “I can try.”

He touched her face, forced her eyes up. “Well, don’t worry. We’ll find out very quickly how obedient you can be. And if you can’t be good, I’ll just have to punish you until you improve. I have plenty of ideas of what I’m going to do with you and a soundproof room to do them all in. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep,” he said, reaching around and undoing the collar.

“Do we have to wait until tomorrow? Can’t I just stay with you tonight?”

“No. We’ll start tomorrow like I just said.”

“I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight.”

“Sure you will. Just go up and think about what I said and make yourself come five or six times. You should probably enjoy it while you can because you’re really gonna be working for it tomorrow.”

“You’re really making me go up.”

“I’m not saying it for my health.”

“This is annoying,” she grumbled as she got out of the car.

“You know, tomorrow you’re going to wish you’d sucked up to me a little more.”

“That’s okay. I’m betting it wouldn’t make a difference. I’m betting if I begged, it would just make you harder.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I don’t know what I’ll be doing with it soon.”

“Thanking me, if you’re good.” He started the car. “Now go up and go to bed. Don’t think I won’t be able to tell if you stayed up late.”

“Okay, okay. Tomorrow morning. Ten.”

“Sharp,” he added as he pulled away.

Her first thoughts upon waking were of the day ahead. It was nine. The hour she had to prepare seemed entirely too long, but by the time she got dressed, it was almost ten. She settled on a short, dark-gray dress with black stockings that came just up over the curve of her knees, and heeled shoes she could stand in for a few hours. She did her makeup, having no idea if it would be on long. Should she wear waterproof mascara? Might she really cry?

The buzzer rang at ten; it was too late to have second thoughts. She could always say pineapple. She always had pineapple. Even if she kept it in for as long as she could.

Getting into the car was normal. He handed her a cup of coffee. It stayed normal halfway to Brooklyn. He even let her pick the radio station. But as they got closer, he turned it off and said, “Are you done with that coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you ready to put the collar on?”

They were stopped at a red light. She looked around. Traffic was sparse but there. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“Okay.”

He opened the armrest and took it out. He must have been planning this. “Come here.” The light was still red. A car pulled up next to them. It was on the driver’s side, but she still ducked her head so her hair hid her face. When it was buckled, the car seemed more quiet. He seemed more quiet. The very streets around them looked different.

“Are we almost there?” He didn’t answer, didn’t even look over. “Hmm?” Then she realized—she was talking. And she hadn’t said “Sir.” Two strikes and they hadn’t even gotten through the intersection. “Sorry. Sir.”

“It’s another mile. Just look out the window.” It was another five blocks before he said, “We’re not having sex today.” She didn’t turn but she knew he could see her tense up. “I think that’s a little too intense for your first time. Is that okay?”

“Will it change your mind if I say no?” “No.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay. Still ready to go? This is the place.”

“Yeah.” She looked at the dash instead of his eyes.

“It’s eleven now. Still think you can make it till three?”

Was that how long she had said she could make it—four hours? Who had she been kidding? She hoped he would factor in her overconfidence. “Four hours might have been ambitious.”

“Might have been. Get your bag and follow me. A few steps behind, mind you.”

She stood next to the car with her bag while he fed the meter a few dozen quarters. He had his own bag as well, the one she knew contained all his toys. She kept her eyes on it while she followed him, three steps behind, into the building. Immaculate lobby, thankfully without a doorman, then a nice, quiet elevator where he touched the back of her neck just above the line of the collar. Two doors to the right. She left her bag at the door as instructed and followed him through one of the closed doors. Once it closed behind them, she could tell the room was soundproof. You’d never know there was a busy Brooklyn street right below them.

The room was not a dungeon, not by a long shot. It could have been a graphic design studio. Big, tinted windows let light stream in. There was a mini-fridge and a couch and a little table with a vase of wildflowers tastefully arranged on it. There was also a lot of scary-looking furniture, stocks and wooden horses and leather benches. There were hooks in the ceiling, some just in the beams and some on a pulley attached to a crank on the wall. One had a rounded end. She knew what that was for. There were a few hooks in the floor as well, quite a few—enough to tie someone down to the floor and barely leave them an inch to breathe.

He told her to stay put and for a few long moments, she knew only that he was moving behind her. She jumped when his hands landed on her shoulders and raked down her back and up to her hair. Gently running his fingers through it, soft and slow. “You look very nice today.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Did you think that would get you extra points?”

“No. I just wanted to look nice for you, Sir.”

“That’s very sweet. I hope you stay that sweet all day.”

Then the hand in her hair turned a lot less gentle and jerked her forward, so hard that she stumbled and brought her arms up before she could think twice. “Arms down,” and he waited until they were at her sides before he pulled again, all the way across the room and under the hooks. He let go with a push that almost made her trip again. She looked up at the hooks, then over to him. He was leaning against the wall, the picture of cool. He had taken his jacket off and wore boots, jeans and a thin, white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The bag sat next to him.

“Lose the dress.” When that was off, he said, “Lose the bra. The underwear can stay for now.” She hadn’t thought about how strange it would feel to take her clothes off in front of him again. When they were in a pile on the ground next to her, he told her to kick them aside. “Put your arms in front of you.”

Out came the leather cuffs. They weren’t that tight. Then he pulled one of the hooks down. “Arms up.” The chain went over the hook. They were a little tighter now. Still not so bad. Then he went to the wall and started to turn the crank. The hook inched its way up to the ceiling and took her with it until her arms were pulled tight and her heels almost came off the ground. She could feel the strain start in her wrists, then shift down through her arms, her back, her hips, all the way to her feet. “Legs apart.” That put her on her toes.

He went to the bag and pulled out his first selection. “Recognize this?” he asked, holding up the hairbrush. She did, it was her hairbrush, but she couldn’t imagine how it got there. “You left it at my apartment about two months ago. I’ve told you several times to take it home with you. You’ll probably never want to see it again after this.”

He held her in place with one arm around her waist and starting swinging. There were no starter taps, and, as she quickly found out, a hairbrush could really hurt. He did one side, then the other, not skimping on the thighs, and even making her stand on one foot, wobbling like crazy, so he could get the tender insides.

“Well,” he said, after enough strikes that she felt like every inch of her skin was burning and located on her ass. They were both breathing a little hard. “That’s one shade down. Let’s see how many more we can get in. But these are in my way,” he said, tugging up the back of her underwear.

He went around her to the bag and took out a pair of sharp, shiny scissors. “Relax,” he said, coming closer. “They’re just for cutting these off.” She still jumped when the blades pressed against her skin. He cut fast and clean at each hip and pulled them away from her body.

“What do you think?” he asked, holding them up so she could see the wet spot. “Should I gag you with them?” She knew better than to speak. “Come on, open your mouth.” He moved them closer and she couldn’t help shrinking away. He pulled her forward with a jerk on the collar. “Open your mouth or I swear to god you won’t close it for the next three hours.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and stuck her tongue out. “Beautiful.” She felt his fingers trace her lips and she thought she might taste them but he said, “I changed my mind. I want to hear every noise you make.” He went to the crank and let her down a little, enough that she could feel the sensation seep back into her arms.

Her flesh burned and throbbed when he came over and gave her ass a hard squeeze. She twisted in her bonds until he grabbed her and held her still. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this color on you. I’d call this two shades.”

He let her go and went back to the bag, pulling out a monstrosity of thick wood, a paddle with a braided strip down the middle that left welts. She had always wondered if you could actually feel the braid. She tried to focus on it for a moment but the explosion of pain upon impact wiped away thought and it was all she could do to stay standing. She could certainly feel the braid afterward.

He let her down and took the cuffs off. She couldn’t stop a cry when her arms fell to her sides. “Did that hurt? Don’t worry, they’re going the other way now.” He pulled them behind her back and bound her elbows, then her wrists. Her chest was forced up and out. She expected him to touch her then, hoped for it, but all he did was bend her over a little and pick up the cane. She had been spanked. She had never been caned. But she had seen cane marks.

“You look scared,” he said, bringing it down across one of the braid marks. It cut an arc that felt different from everything else; it shot straight through the ache with a sting that took her breath away. She found that she did cry, and shake, and scream, all before they even got to ten.

When he pushed her to her knees, she was just relieved that the cane was gone. When she heard his zipper, she was relieved to be back on familiar ground. She happily opened her mouth when instructed. But this wasn’t what she was used to. This wasn’t her giving a blow job. This wasn’t her doing anything except keeping her mouth open while he fucked it.

He held her in place with one tight grip in her hair and one equally tight grip at the back of the collar, pulling it around her throat until she was straining for breath. With her hands bound, she could do nothing but take it, and he told her she took it beautifully, without a fight, without fear. Not even when she grew dizzy, her mind racing as she wondered whether he would let her pass out, and just what was the limit on breath play—not even then did she struggle.

Finally, he let go of the collar and the massive breath she drew in was immediately lost when he filled her mouth with his come, holding her in place against him. Some splashed over her breasts when he pulled out. She didn’t move when he stepped back, still on her knees, mouth open and dripping, eyes closed. It was a long few moments before she looked up. He stood over her, cleaned up and impassive once again. She shuddered to think what she probably looked like.

“That was very good,” he said, running a hand through her hair. It tingled and warmed her all the way through after all the pulling, feeling like some luxurious reward. “Are you wet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I bet you’d be touching yourself if you could. Would you be making yourself come right now if I let you?” He bent down and ran a hand up her thigh, stopping just at the top and giving a little squeeze.

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed out. She kept her eyes trained on the floor in front of her, on his leather boots. Her focus must have been a little too intense, because he moved away and came back with the little wooden chair from the corner and sat down. He moved one foot forward and waved a hand. “Go on, then.”

“Sir?”

“On the boot if you want it so bad.”

She eyed the boot. As she would many times with increasing awe over the coming months, she thought, He really is a sadist. She must have taken a moment too many because he moved forward, faster than she was ready for, grabbed her and pulled her close. She almost fell over, the unstoppable need to catch herself meeting the immovable force of her hands bound behind her back. He didn’t let her fall.

“Listen to me,” he said, and she looked up at him before he had to correct her. “You will make yourself come, yes, on the boot, and you will fucking thank me for the privilege.”

She knew her options were bad. She could either safeword and regret it, convinced that she could have taken more, could have taken anything when she was safe in her bed at home tonight. Or she would do it and never be the same. Never forget the mixture of gut-churning humiliation, the wonder at her body getting off while her mind was in turmoil, the heat in her cheeks, the tears and, above all, the burn driving her on, stoked by every spot of drool, every mark, every slap, consuming everything else. That was how someone was changed forever.

Pineapple. Pineapple. Pineapple.

“Yes, Sir.”

She slowly inched forward on her knees, a fine tremble running through her, until she was flush against his leg, thighs spread apart and spreading wider as her hips jerked before she could stop them, grinding against the grain of the leather, too soft and too rough at once, too much of everything at once after so much nothing. She hid her face against his leg but that wasn’t happening. He pulled her hair back until she was forced to look up. He didn’t make her look at him; that was a kindness. But he did watch her. She could feel that even with her eyes squeezed shut.

She worked harder. She thought he was probably cruel enough to stop her right on the edge if she didn’t go fast enough for his liking. Was he watching to see if he could catch her? Thank god she had her eyes closed. It seemed like forever with the strain in her shoulders, her knees on the floor, her arms useless and going numb behind her. But it wasn’t in spite of these things that she came, but because of them. For a few hot seconds, there was nothing but sensations, so many at once, and she was screaming so loud she couldn’t have had a thought if she wanted to.

Her body shook. She scraped her knees. She cried, again. And when it was over, the thoughts stayed quiet.

He looked pleased when she was done. He untied her arms and allowed her a few minutes to recover, curled up on the floor, before he asked, “Ready for more?” He had the bag.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. All fours. Legs open.”

And though she felt the humiliation of showing him her wet cunt, still aching for his attention, whatever he did with it, and felt the pain in her limbs as she got into position, the stinging burn that persisted in her ass, the shame when he made her clean his boots with her tongue—above all, she felt the sweet taste of satisfaction.