Page 16 of Imperfect Skin

I fucked up so badly.

I should have known when Ziggy started acting all cagey in the car. Why I’d let myself trust Ziggy in the first place was a matter I was sure Rhys would have opinions on. I should have gone with my gut. The whole reason I’d been going to The Pit to begin with was that they allowed more extreme play, but kept an eye on everyone, making sure safe words were followed and nobody took it too far. Kink clubs were always under close scrutiny, and one wrong word to the council or the coppers could have a club closed down.

But The Pit had changed over the last few months. A lot of the regular, experienced Doms and Masters had left, and in their place were what I could describe at best as bedroom Doms. The ones who had no idea about the nuances and protocols that came with BDSM. Those people turned up to get their rocks off with some poor subs, most of whom had no idea what was right or wrong themselves.

The new, lax supervision wasn’t a deterrent to me, though. I wasn’t going to lie. Subconscious or not, that need to be made to hurt and suffer went beyond what my normal maso needs were. Frankly, I’d been lucky on my previous visits. While the guys I’d let beat on me had been woefully inexperienced, they’d given me what I wanted. I didn’t want to get off on the pain. I wanted to hurt, and hurt more than any sensible, trained Dom would allow.

These guys hit the wrong spots and had no idea how to warm up a sub or prepare them for an intense flogging scene. With them, there was no build-up—just right to it. And that was okay. I’d always said to myself I would never let it go too far. I’d call red when I needed to.

But I’d also always been pretty good at lying to myself, and not seeing the danger in front of me.

When Ziggy got in contact, alarm bells should’ve rung. He’d been there at The Pit on a night a Dom had gotten a little carried away with vampire gloves and nipple clamps. I’d been a bloody mess and had just wanted to go home and lick my wounds. I’d seen him standing there with a group of newcomers, staring at me like a hunk of meat. My brain didn’t register the look, not really. I just took it as a chance to rub in his face what he’d lost. Frankly, I’d been surprised to see him at The Pit. He’d always called my love of BDSM perverted and fucked up—but then, he’d always teased me about any of my interests or hobbies given the chance.

Yet here I was, walking into The Pit with him, and seriously considering letting him do whatever to me.

Yeah, I had fucked up royally.

But I wasn’t going to back down. In some fucked up part of my brain, I hoped Cal found out and confronted me about it. Then I could see the disgusted look on his face for myself, and finally get over my foolish infatuation with the guy.

No, you want him to come and rescue you from yourself. Be the Daddy you’ve always needed.

Even in the quiet of my own head, those words freaked me out more than anything in the world. I’d told Rhys I didn’t need a Daddy, but what I meant was I didn’t need a soft, cuddly Daddy like I assumed my brother was

What did it fucking matter? I was never going to be the sort that had Daddies begging for him to be their boy. Fuck, I didn’t even know what sort of boy I was.

My internal conversation was cut short when I felt a leather cuff close around my wrist. I had the sudden realisation that I’d zoned out so much I hadn’t even focused on where Ziggy had taken me.

We were in one of the private backrooms. Twisting to look over my shoulder, I noticed we weren’t alone. Another guy stood with Zig’s, smiling coldly as he eyed me up.

As Ziggy fastened my other wrist to the cross, I realised I didn’t want this—and more importantly, I didn’t agree to it.

“Zig, stop! I didn’t agree with you cuffing me, or for someone else to be in the ro—” Before I finished getting the words out, Ziggy slapped me on the back of the head—hard—then did it again.

“What you want doesn’t matter. You agreed to come here with me and you came into this room willingly.” Ziggy walked around the cross, a smug, entitled look on his face.

“Jesus!” How could I have been so stupid? “Me agreeing to come into the room with you doesn’t mean I give consent for this.” I tried to shake my hand, but the cuff stopped me being able to move it much.

“Yeah, I’ve always said you’re not very bright, but maybe you might learn a thing or two tonight. How does that sound?” Ziggy had a grip on my hair that bordered on too painful as he spoke in my ear.

“No! Red! Fucking stop! I didn’t consent to any of this shit!” I yelled, only to be smacked across the back of the head again.

I began to swear up a storm, hurling every curse word I knew at them—and I knew a lot of them. Ziggy ignored me, going to grab something from the table I couldn’t see. I froze when cold steel touched my back.

“Don’t fret, not gonna cut you.” The laugh Zig gave had no warmth as he sliced the shirt I was wearing to ribbons, the material fluttering down to my feet.

I tugged on the cuffs but there was no give at all. I twisted my head, trying to see if the security camera was on. Each of the playrooms had one fitted when the original owner had set the club up, but I wasn’t sure if they were even active anymore. A lot had changed since the new owners had taken over.

The camera was there, but the telltale red light was off. Damn it! I wasn’t going to panic yet. I’d been in worse scraps than this. Zig didn’t have any fucking idea what he was doing. As far as I could tell, he was trying to scare me—bully me, like he had when we’d been together.

What can I say? My blindness to self-preservation was a weak point in my otherwise stellar decision-making skills.

My scattered thoughts screeched to a halt when a searing pain landed across my shoulder. Ziggy had a fucking bullwhip! Another hit landed across the same spot, the tail of the whip precariously close to my face. Zig showed no control or finesse with what he was doing, aiming only to cause the maximum amount of pain and damage. The only thing I could do was try to weather the onslaught and then get out of this somehow.

The pain wasn’t unbearable yet. Ziggy didn’t have the strength or stamina—I hoped—to really fuck me up, but already the skin on my back was starting to burn. It wouldn’t take many more of those strikes before my skin split open. I wouldn’t scream. I would not give that fucker the satisfaction. I bit my lip, focusing instead on that small pain, and the taste of iron filling my mouth as each strike of the whip got harder to bear.

“Ziggy, mate, this was fun and all, but he’s fucking bleeding. You need to stop.” The other guy’s voice broke through the cotton wool filling my head. He sounded panicky, like he was going to throw up. I giggled, slightly manic at the thought.

Yeah, you and me both, mate.

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