Page 8 of Taunting Tarran
I cock my brow and continue down the hall. I’d been seeing Darren since the get-go – a fantasy facilitator he calls himself, working only with women, although, I’m the only woman that has asked to be beaten and bruised to find my own limits, and as of yet we haven’t found them. Hitting a woman, albeit consensually can be a grey area of the law, and he’s often expressed that, it’s not something he feels entirely comfortablewith. Our sessions aren’t even sexual; it’s for (my psychological exploration) as Darren puts it. We never got into details of why I’m here, just that every once in a while I pay him to take me to the extreme.Guilt.I’m guilty, and he’s the only one willing to punish me. Some people go to church and confess their sins, pray to God for forgiveness. And I’ve tried all that, but nothing comes close to the feeling I have when I leave here, because the harder he hits, the more pain he inflicts, the longer I can last before I’m pleading for him to do it all over again.
There’s something wrong with me.
Pain and pleasure, two sides of the same coin.
‘Hi, Tarran!’ Jake hollers as I approach the second to last door at the end of the corridor. A playful smirk creeps up my face as I recognise Jake’s voice calling out to me from his room. Knowing Jake, he would have done it intentionally surely earning him a whipping from his strict teacher.
‘Right this way, ma’am,’ the woman suggests with her hand. My throat tightens.When did I become a ma’am?
I knock back the rest of my drink and hand her the glass.
‘Please don’t call me ma’am again.’
‘I was just being polite,’ she says, stunned.
‘If I wanted polite, I’d have gone to fucking church and bared my soul. Then I’d wait for the priest to assign penance after he’d made my ears bleed. I have enough voices in my head. So, instead I’m here paying you good money just for the latter without the bullshit.Capiche?’
‘Understood.’ She smiles. ‘Our customers’ satisfactionis of the utmost importance. This is your room.’
The room retains its familiar dark, moody ambiance, and as I am welcomed inside, the heavy scent of incense fills my nostrils, adding to the already dark and moody ambiance. The plush red carpet extends from one end of the room to the other, its deep colour adding to the room’s somber charm.That’s new.
‘Your Dom will be here shortly,’ the woman says with an unsettling calmness, before turning away, and leaving me in confusion.
Something is wrong. Something is different.
An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. My instincts scream at me to leave and get the hell out of here, yet, the very same curiosity that drew me here now chains me to the spot. Countless possibilities race through my mind in a matter of seconds, each one more terrifying than the last, and each one sending more and more adrenaline coursing through my veins.
‘Wait, excuse me, who are you?’ I demand, but she ignores me, closing the door with a chilling finality. The sound of the lock clicking into place sends a shiver down my spine. I pull on the handle, but it’s locked. I’m trapped! The room plunges into complete darkness and I start to worry.
‘Hello? Where’s Darren?’ I call out, my voice trembling.
‘Quiet!’ hisses a low, menacing voice from the shadows. Then, through the faint light with the lighting of a candle, I can make out a man sitting in a leather chair, his chiseled jawline reflecting off the flickering candlelight. My eyes lock onto him as he leans towards me, causing my heart to flutter.
‘Oh, thank god, Darren…’ I breathe out in relief.
‘I’m not Darren,’ he answers coldly.
‘Oh, my apologies, I usually have Darren. If you could just unlock the door, I’ll see myself out. My mistake,’ I say quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension.
‘Get on your knees,’ he commands.
‘Excuse me?’ I stammer as my stomach drops.
‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Why you’re here every week,’ he taunts. ‘You know the rules, Tarran. It isTarran, isn’t it?’
‘Yes…but…’ I can feel him watching me from the shadows waiting for me to obey his command.
‘Then do as I say. You should have known better than to greet me standing on your feet,’ he says with a hint of amusement in his voice.
My knees start to buckle, and I lower myself to the floor.
‘Much better,’ he groans.
‘Look, I think there has been some kind of mistake.’
‘You signed a disclaimer, did you not?’
‘I did…’
