Raw Ch. 09

I nodded and picked up a thin rope sample on the tabletop. I lightly wrapped my fist around the strand and ran it back and forth. It felt rough with little prickly fibers like hairs that stuck out all over it. It reminded me of when we used to play tug-of-war in grade school. How my hands used to burn afterwards. If it tied too tightly, I imagined this rope might seriously chafe the skin. Then again, that may have been its purpose.

"See something you like?" The man behind the table asked. He wore a tight, black T-shirt and black jeans. With his dark hair, he reminded me too much of Jesse.

Malcolm glanced at me and I shook my head. I laid the sample back down as he told the vendor, "No, thank you. We're just looking."

We continued down the aisle, briefly stopping at vendors on either side. There were only a couple of more rope vendors, and no two vendors were next to each other that sold the same kind of items. Some of them had magazines and flyers to give away, while others had a laptop set up to show video demonstrations using their products.

As we turned the corner to head down the row against the back wall of the ballroom, I stopped dead in my tracks and buried my face against Malcolm's arm.

"Becca? What's wrong?"

I couldn't speak I was trying so hard not to laugh.

"What? What is it?"

"I was hoping you could tell me!" I closed my eyes and giggled. The black item was hanging on the side of a vendor's booth, and it had two arms and two legs with an attached hood. The hood had no face. Instead, it had a white circular opening in the middle of it.

After a few moments—during which I assumed he was trying to pinpoint what I had been staring at—he finally let out a chuckle of his own. "That would be a rubber body suit."

"People actually wear that? It looks like an alien being. And a claustrophobic one at that."

He chuckled again. "Not all of them have the hooded mask. But rubber bondage has quite a huge following. I hear it's very erotic trying to put it on."

"I can only imagine. How the hell do you get into it?"

"Some you have to get into it through a large opening at the neck. It's very flexible, although quite a lot of lube may be required. But ones like that usually have a zipper up the back that a partner would help you into and out of."

"I think I'll pass." When he sighed, I said, "I pray that is relief I hear?"

"Yes, Becca. I'd rather stick to the ropes and chains. Speaking of which..."

We had continued down the next aisle and stopped at a booth that looked like it belonged in Home Depot. I'd never seen so many chains. Like the first rope booth, dozens of samples of chains hung from a rod and lay on a display table. They ranged from tiny links that I imagined someone would wear as a necklace to ones so big and thick they could probably tow a truck.

"Malcolm! It's been too long." The short, burly guy under the curtain of chains reached across the table and gave my fiancé a manly handshake.

Although there was a break in the display so the curtain of chains didn't hinder conversation, the guy's head hit a couple, which sent the strands tinkling and rattling against each other. It made me think of kinky wind chimes. I'm sure someone here was already marketing that.

"Darryl, good to see you. Business still good?"

"Can't complain. What brings you up here? I haven't seen you at a convention in years."

Malcolm put his arm around my shoulders. "I'd like to introduce my fiancée, Becca Rockland."

Darryl's face lit up as his smile widened. He had just taken my hand to shake it when he froze. "Wait a minute. As in Rebecca Rockland? A.K.A. Drake Alexander? The author?"

I grinned. "The one and only."

A couple of women who were standing nearby whispered to each other and stared at me for a moment. I gave them a smile and a quick tip up of the chin. They smiled in return and wandered on to another booth. The novelty of being recognized had worn off several months after coming out about hiding behind my brother's names for seven years. I'd rather missed it—except the time a fan had hoodwinked me prior to my kidnapping last summer.

"Man, why do you always have all the luck?" Darryl said, shaking his head.

"I wish I knew," Malcolm chuckled.

Darryl pointed at me. "Do not let this one go. Ever. Seeing that she's here, I'd say it's safe to say she's into something kinky with you. If she's as good in bed as she is at writing..."

Oh. My. God. Did he just say that? My cheeks felt warm as I glanced at my feet.

Malcolm leaned over the table. "Even better. But that's all I'm saying on the subject."

I stared slack-jawed at my fiancé. Seriously? Did they forget I was standing right there?

"I wish I had one of your books with me so you could sign it." Darryl glanced around as if hoping one would appear out of the boxes he had neatly stacked around the booth.

I smiled wider and found my voice. "Do you have a business card?"

Darryl patted the back of his pants before Malcolm cleared his throat as he lifted a card off the stack on the table and handed it to me. Darryl grinned. "See what a beautiful woman does to a guy?"

"Trust me, I know all too well," Malcolm shook his head.

I pocketed the card. "I'll send you a signed copy of the first book in 'Triple Tease.' How's that sound?"

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you." Darryl took my hand and kissed it.

"Whenever you're done fawning over my future wife, I'm actually interested in doing a little business," Malcolm said, faking a yawn.

I let the guys talk while I turned my attention to the display. A very tiny set of links made me think of the chain that connected the nipple clamps we used. Another made me shiver as it reminded me of a dog leash. I refused to touch that one. The thickest sample was quite heavy. I wondered what its use was. Did they use chains for restraining in erotic bondage?

"Well, it would depend on how much she weighs." I heard Darryl say.

I snapped my head up and glared at Malcolm. "You better watch what words come out of your mouth next, mister."

Darryl covered his mouth with his hand. "Do you need a moment alone?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, which was a sight I'd rarely witnessed. Usually I was the one doing the eye rolling. "He's just saying that your weight would determine what type of chain to order."

"To do what? Hang me from the ceiling?"

Both men looked at me and then at each other. Malcolm gave a slight shrug and gestured with his hand, palm up, toward me.

"You're right, she is smart," Darryl said.

"I wasn't serious." It was my turn to glance back and forth between them. I crossed my arms. "You actually want to hang me from the ceiling?"

"It's called suspension, Becca." Malcolm placed a hand on my shoulder, as if that was the international gesture to calm down. "It was just an idea."

I resisted shrugging his hand off. Just barely. "Being tied up with chains and hung like a piece of meat isn't really my idea of sexy."

"Becca—"

"No, Malcolm," Darryl said, "she has a point. Have you been to the suspension demo yet? The next one starts in fifteen minutes. Go check it out and come back if she changes her mind. I'll be here all weekend. Plus you have my card."

Malcolm considered it for a moment and then nodded. "We'll see you later."

I wanted to discuss this suspension idea more, but I also knew I should probably keep my mouth shut for now. So I just took Malcolm's arm as he turned to leave. We maneuvered through the crowd to the other side of the room then through a set of double-doors. They led to a connecting hall lined with a series of doors along the opposite wall. Each door had a small, framed whiteboard next to it with a handwritten sign indicating why the room had been reserved. There were people mingling around two open doors. The rest of the rooms had their doors shut.

I managed to read three of the signs as we passed: Shibari, Harness, and Sleepsack. I recognized the first as the term Malcolm had explained when we had visited the first rope booth. I hoped we were going to visit that at some point. I wasn't too sure about the other two.

Malcolm stopped at the fourth room where the sign read Suspension. He moved his hand to my lower back and guided me past two couples who were chatting in the hall. We settled into two seats along the wall, and I stared at the metal contraption at the front of the room. It looked like a set of monkey bars from a grade school playground.

For the next thirty minutes, I watched a buff, ponytailed man wearing only torn jeans demonstrate how to use materials "available in any hardware store, or direct from the vendors throughout the weekend." First, he bound his partner—a tall, skinny woman with very short hair who was dressed in a tank top and biker shorts. Then, he hooked her up to the contraption so that she hung in various ways depending on the desired purpose and use.

I wasn't sure about the woman, but I was exhausted just from watching the show. Yet I was intrigued when he mimicked having sex. Sometimes she had one or both feet on the floor. But mostly, the ropes that bound her and the chains that attached her to the device were her only support. I could only imagine how it would feel to have sex like that. Completely trusting your partner. Feeling nothing but air beneath you. It gave me shivers. Delightful shivers.

The next Shibari demonstration started within minutes after the Suspension one finished, so we had no time to talk between sessions. I wished I'd brought a notepad to take notes. Or at least my iPhone so I'd remember what to ask Malcolm later. But I hadn't known to bring a notepad, and the latter I'd left charging in the room. I hadn't thought it would be necessary to have it on me since I would be with Malcolm. No one else would need to get ahold of me. Heck, no one else knew I was out of the country.

I found the second presentation more interesting. I hadn't realized that the rope bondage Malcolm practiced on me had a specific name. Someone had printed a short history on a whiteboard at the front of the room. The specific art of binding originated during the mid-1600s in Japan. It later entered mainstream media in the 1950s and 1960s through erotic magazines before gaining popularity in the United States. It was now a staple to many members of the BDSM scene worldwide.

In hindsight, as nervous as I had been back on that day so long ago when my brother asked if I'd be the model for Malcolm's own rope demonstration, I had enjoyed the act of bondage. It left me feeling helpless. Which I found heightened my arousal...when I was with the right partner.

Now, as I watched a man with tattoos all over his arms and most of his baldhead show various knots and binding methods on two female models, I grew jealous. I wanted people watching me look as beautiful as those women did with those colored ropes making artful designs across my body parts. So much so that I felt a little deflated when Mr. Tattoo dismissed us.

We caught the demo in the Harness room next. I found I wasn't really into wearing a sex sling. It reminded me too much of being at the gynecologist's office. And sitting in a swing to have sex? While I could see that both devices did incorporate bondage in that they restricted movement in a minimal way, they just weren't my thing. I prayed it wasn't Malcolm's, either.

After the third presentation, I was famished. We'd skipped breakfast, so we swung by Darryl's booth and persuaded him to join us for lunch in the restaurant. During the meal, the men tried to encourage me to change my mind about playing with suspension. In the end, I agreed we could try it, but I made no promises that it would become a permanent fixture to our current repertoire of contraptions. Malcolm seemed satisfied that I had not been adamantly against the idea.

Darryl hooked us up with an order of chains to be delivered back home, and he gave us a couple of suggestions for good rope dealers. Malcolm and I spent the afternoon wandering through rows of booths, touching different materials, asking questions, and watching demos on the laptops. I fell in love with two types of ropes. Both were dyed jute. One was black and blue twisted together, and another was black and red. The woman selling them promised neither would chafe the skin. Malcolm ordered several meters of each as well as a thicker style we could use in the suspension.

The gallery was opening this evening at six o'clock, so I asked Malcolm if we could return to the room to freshen up and rest for a bit. He watched a hockey game while I took a nap. When I woke, I hopped into the shower. I was combing out my hair when he leaned against the bathroom doorway.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Becca?"

I smiled at him in the mirror. He looked dashing in his dress shirt, tie, and dark jeans. I wanted to run my hands through his hair. Hell, I wanted to rip off his clothes, push him back on the bed, and mount him. Whoa! That was definitely not the thought process of a submissive.

I took a deep breath and nodded. "It has been a very enlightening day. I'm glad we came."

He sidled up behind me. His hand crept around my waist. When it slid between the edges of the towel I had wrapped around my torso, I started to close my eyes as I felt his fingers searching.

"Eyes on me," he growled against my ear.

I gasped, my lids lifting again to meet his gaze in the mirror just as his fingers pressed deeper.

"Mmm. Wet already? Whatever are you thinking about?"

I licked my lips, unable to speak. A moan escaped instead as he rubbed my clit. Then his hand was gone. I watched him raise it to his mouth and lick his fingers. When he tilted my head back to kiss me, I tasted the saltiness of my arousal lingering on his tongue.

"Finish getting ready. Darryl said he would meet us by the elevators in fifteen minutes." He smacked my ass as he left the bathroom.

I wasn't a typical woman who took her time doing her hair and makeup on most days. I could usually shower and be completely ready in thirty minutes. Tonight? I think I set a record even for myself.

My hair was still wet when I pulled it back into a braid. I dropped my towel on the tile floor and sauntered past Malcolm, fully naked. As I searched through the clothes he had chosen to bring for me, he moved from the couch to sit on the foot of the bed. More than once, I heard him growl.

I held up each item before I put it on, doing an erotic, backwards striptease. First, there was a black thong. Then the matching black, lace bra. The same tight-black pants I'd worn to Jesse's party the infamous night I'd learned the truth about my brother. Even the same damn blue top, which I did love. Thankfully, there was also a pair of black heels.

"You look amazing," Malcolm said as he stood. He tipped my chin up and kissed me softly. "I'm such a lucky man to have you on my arm tonight."

"And I'm such a lucky woman." I kissed him back and rubbed my hand across his groin, grinning as I felt his hardness. He tried to grab my hand as I stepped away, but I was faster. I opened the door and looked back over my shoulder. "We don't want to keep Darryl waiting."

I heard his footsteps hurrying after me—the hotel room door slamming shut behind him—as I headed to the elevators. Darryl was already there. His grin turned to a frown as I approached.

"Trouble in paradise?"

I winked at him and pressed the button to go down. "More like impatience."

The elevator doors opened, and I turned around after I stepped on. Malcolm just shook his head as he passed his friend, who gave us both a quizzical look. And if my eyes did not deceive me, Malcolm rolled his own eyes for the second time today. Interesting.

"I hope I'm not out of place to say you look absolutely stunning, Becca." Darryl had his back to Malcolm and me as we stood against the glass wall of the car. He glanced back over his shoulder but faced forward again so quickly I thought I'd imagined it.

"You are not out of place," Malcolm said. He put my hand on the crook of his elbow. "She is beautiful."

I laughed. "Thank you, Darryl."

"And, thank you, Malcolm," Malcolm said as he handed me my lanyard for entrance into the ballroom.

Oh, geesh. I gulped and put the ribbon around my neck as I whispered, "Thank you, Sir."

He said nothing, but his hand brushed past my breast as he lowered it, his thumb grazing my nipple. I shivered and tightened my grip on his arm.

We checked into the ballroom where a line was forming by a far set of double-doors. It looked nothing like the controlled chaos we'd experienced just a couple of hours prior. The vendor booths had closed, and the overhead lighting was off. Now, candles in lanterns lit the way down the red-carpeted aisle lined with red, velvet ropes. I felt a little like a celebrity.

As we waited, I noticed most of other guests had changed as well. No more was the color palate mostly black. The men had traded their T-shirts and jeans for suitcoats, dress shirts, and ties. And the women wore an array of colorful dresses and pantsuits. Were these the same people who had been perusing for the best ropes and chains earlier today?

The chatter stayed at a minimum, as if we were in a museum. Malcolm and Darryl talked about some magazine they used to get with "toys of the trade." I took the time to investigate the booths along the back of the room. We hadn't gotten to most of them since we'd gone to the demonstrations and then returned to perusing the aisles by Darryl's booth. But now, one of them caught my eye.

I risked interrupting the men and asked, "Could we visit here tomorrow?"

Malcolm paused to glance at the booth. "Are you sure?"

I understood his concern. The wall had a display of blindfolds, handcuffs, hoods, spreader bars, and ball-gags. While the latter item literally made me want to gag, I was interested in the former. "I was thinking of that blindfold and some new cuffs. Something with more cushioning, especially if we use them in the suspension. Not that I don't like the ones you already have."

He considered it a moment and nodded. "I think that's a good idea."

"I know the vendor," Darryl said. He pulled his phone out of the inside pocket of his sports coat and sent a text. The guys continued their discussion as we moved up the queue. After a few minutes, Darryl's phone buzzed. "Layla said she'd be happy to meet with you. She'll be here all day tomorrow. Tell her I sent you, and she'll give you a discount."

"Thanks, Darryl." I kissed him on the cheek.

"Wow. A kiss from a beautiful, famous author. You two, um, aren't into ménage à trois—"

"No," Malcolm and I both said at the same time.

"Hey, I thought I'd ask!" Darryl said, holding up his hands, palms out. "You never know."

We all laughed. And then it was our turn to enter the exhibit.

I had imagined it to be mostly photography of rope bondage at use in artistic ways. While I had been pretty much on point, there were also paintings and sculptures. But I had not expected to see live models. Especially nude ones. Most had some garment covering them either above or below, but some were obviously not wearing any undergarments at all. In some cases, the ropes didn't cover private areas. They did the opposite and accentuated those parts.

The models—both live and in print—were mostly female. They ranged from single to three-or-four participants. One even had eight against a web of rope with each woman bound by a different color of that made her look like a spider. Many were non-erotic with the model just sitting or standing. Others had the models in sexual positions, or an apparent submissive or slave bound while a model representing a Dominant partner posed in a display of control.

We perused the room, and I tried to tune out the chatter around us. The more I looked, the more my arousal grew. As did my envy. My mouth was dry, and I kept licking my lips. My heartbeat quickened. My nipples perked up. Painfully. I wanted to rub my arm against them, but I didn't think I could do it subtly.