The Priest (The Original Sinners #9) - Tiffany Reisz Page 0,70
wished he’d never seen.
Floggers and whips, ropes and canes. But also lots of weird-looking metal objects and sitting in various spots on the floor like demonic gym equipment was a big metal cage, a medical table with leather straps hanging off it, and some kind of crazy-ass wooden throne with steel hooks in it.
“When you said this was a dungeon…you meant it.”
Nora laughed as she put the tea things from their talk with Doc into a sink on the far wall. A sink? Yeah. A sink. Right next to a toilet. Not a bathroom. Just the toilet.
“I don’t want to know,” he said, pointing at the toilet.
“Puppy play,” Nora said. “Dogs drink out of toilets. I make my puppies drink from the toilet. Nobody ever uses it as, you know, a toilet.”
“Puppies?”
“Human puppies. Men who like being treated like dogs.” Nora opened the cabinet door under the sink and took out a small bottle of Dawn.
“And the sink?”
“For washing up stuff,” she said. “All this equipment touches human bodies. You don’t want to spread infections or anything. This room used to be the company’s break room. Sink, counter, coffee machine, half bath. I had everything taken out except for the sink and toilet.”
“I just don’t even know what to say,” Cyrus said.
“You don’t have to say anything. Promise. Make yourself at home. Watch what you touch, though. Some of the equipment is dangerous.”
“You don’t say.”
While Nora washed her dishes, Cyrus roamed the room, trying to make himself as narrow as possible to avoid brushing up against something he didn’t want to brush up against.
So many whips. So many floggers. Enough rope to build a bridge from here to his apartment. He came to a stop in front of a red curtain, the old-fashioned kind like what they hung in front of movie screens. It even had golden tassels, the sort you pulled to raise the curtain.
“Do I want to know what’s behind the curtain?” Cyrus asked.
“My bed,” she said.
“Just a bed? Like a normal bed?”
“Normal bed. I’ve been known to nap between sessions with clients.”
“Oh,” Cyrus said. “Makes sense.”
“It’s also for Sheridan.”
“Who’s that?”
“My little girl sub. She’s not into dungeons. Prefers being beaten and fucked on beds. Spoiled little brat.”
Cyrus glanced over at Nora, thinking she was yanking his chain. No. Not chain-yanking. She was, in fact, drying the dishes.
“I also keep the scary stuff in there under lock and key,” she said.
“The scary stuff?” He glanced around the room again at the cages and whips. “You’re saying this isn’t the scary stuff? How much does this shit cost you?”
Nora turned her back to him, lifted the bottom of her t-shirt a few inches. Cyrus could just see the tail end of a red welt at the bottom of her ribcage.
“Damn.”
“Belt,” she said. “Basic black leather, fifty dollars. All he used on me. His own belt in a hotel room. No dungeon necessary.”
“And you really, actually, swear-to-God liked that? If not, I may have to settle things with him.”
“I really, actually, swear-to-God loved it. Don’t beat up my dominant, please. But if you do, I’d appreciate it if you left his pretty face alone.”
He studied a wall of canes but didn’t touch any. This wasn’t fuzzy handcuffs and silk blindfolds sort of stuff. This was the real deal.
“Tell me something,” he said, glancing around, eyes wide, “how do you get into this? I mean…this is a lot.”
“Everybody finds their way to kink by a different path. I know dominatrixes who learned the trade from their own mothers. I know male submissives who just got curious one day, Googled BDSM clubs, and fell down the rabbit-hole.”
“What about you?”
She smiled. “Mine’s a pretty common story. You fall in love with someone already kinky—S?ren, in my case—and you discover you’re as into it as they are. Kink is often sexually-transmitted.”
“He just up and said, ‘Hey, I know I’m your priest, but I’m also kinky as hell. Wanna play?’”
“He actually kept it a secret from me for a long time. He’s…he’s a little more kinky than your average kinky guy. Pain’s his fetish. If there’s no pain, there’s no sex. That’s a hard thing to tell the girl you’re in love with.”
“You mean it’s kink 24/7/365?” he asked. “And he’s always the one calling the shots?”
She nodded. “Always. No days off.”
“But you’re into calling the shots, too.” He reached out and stroked the tails of one of the floggers on the wall. It was shockingly soft, suede probably. “Doesn’t it get old? Him being