Fifty shades of Beaumont // Randy

Chapter 11

'I'm a dominant.'

Chapter 11: playroom
Andy's point of view.

The first thing I notice is the smell; leather, wood, polish with a faint citrus scent. It's very pleasant, and the lighting is soft. In fact I can't see the source, but it's around the cornice in the room, emitting an ambient glow. The walls and ceiling are a deep, dark burgundy, giving a womb-like effect to the spacious room, and the floor is old, old varnished wood.

There is a large wooden cross like an X fastened to the wall, facing the door. It's made of high-polished mahogany, and there are restraining cuffs on each corner. Above it is an expansive iron grid suspended from the ceiling, eight-foot square at least, and from it hang all manner of ropes, chains, and glinting shackles.

By the door, two long, polished, ornately carved poles, like spindles from a banister but longer, hang like curtain rods across the wall. From them swing a starling assortment of paddels, whips, riding crops, and funny-looking feathery implements.

Beside the door stands a substantial mahogany chest of drawers, each drawer slim as if designed to contain specimens in a crusty old museum. I wonder briefly what the drawers actually do hold. Do I want to know?

In the far corner is an oxblood leather padded bench, and fixed to the wall beside it is a wooden, polished rack that looks like a pool or billiard cue holder, but on closer inspection, it holds canes of varying lengths and widths.

There is a six-foot-long table in the opposite corner and two matching stools underneath.

But what dominates the room is a bed. It's bigger than king-size, an ornately carved rococo four-poster with a flat top. It looks late nineteenth century. Under the canopy, I can see more gleaming chains and cuffs. There is no bedding... just a mattress covered in red leather and red satin cushions piled at one end.

At the foot of the bed, set apart a few feet, is a large oxblood couch, just stuck in the middle of the room facing the bed. An odd arrangement to have a couch facing the bed, and I smile to myself — I've picked on the couch as odd, when really it's the most mundane piece of furniture in the room.

I glance up and stare at the ceiling. There are karabiners at all over the ceiling at odd intervals. I vaguely wonder what they're for.

Weirdly, all the wood, dark walls, moody lighting, and oxblood leather makes the room kind of soft and romantic... I know it's anything but, this is Ryan's version of soft and romantic.

I turn, and he's regarding me intently as I knew he would be, his expression completely unreadable.

I walk further into the room and he follows me. The feathery thing has me intrigued. I touch it hesitantly. It's suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, and there are very small plastic beads on the end.

"It's called a flogger." His voice is quiet and soft. A flogger hmmm. I think I'm in shock. I am numb. I can observe and absorb but not articulatie my feelings about all this, because I'm in shock. What is the appropriate response to finding out a potential lover is a complete freaky sadist or masochist? Fear... Yes... that seems to be the over-riding feeling. I recognize it now. But weirdly not of him — I don't think he'd hurt me, well, not without my consent.

So many questions cloud my mind. Why? How? When? How often? Who? I walk throwards the bed and run my hands down on one of the carved posts.

"Say something." Ryan commands, his voice soft.

"Do you do this to people or do they do this to you?" I ask. His mouth quirks up, either amused or relieved.

"People?" He blinks a couple of times. "I do this to men who wants me to."