Hurt for Me

by Heather Levy

It was so ridiculous and false, but there were real ramifications to people believing those stories. Like how nearly every legislative session included a bill trying to make sodomy illegal for same-sex couples even after the Supreme Court decision on Lawrence v. Texas. If only legislators knew how many of their campaign donors begged Rae to peg them—something she wished she could do, but it clearly fell within the illegal realm of sex for money.

“Action without intention is like a novice artist slapping clay around, making a mess of it like you are now,”

“But if you put intention behind your commands, behind every impact on skin, that’s when clay shapes into art. That’s when you can create a masterpiece with a person’s desires.”

feeling like she had entered an alternate universe where age, race, body size, gender, and sexual orientation didn’t matter; everyone there seemed to be completely in their element and not judging anyone around them.

“There are no second chances here,” Viv whispered to her. “Break the rules, and you’re out. He ignored your bracelet, which means he’d probably ignore collars too.”

mostly women, wore one. Viv had told her Dominants sometimes gave their submissives collars to signify to others that not only did the submissive belong to them, but they were also under their protection. Other Dominants were expected to respect the collar and leave a submissive alone.

Although she belonged to no one, Rae almost wished she were wearing a collar. The masked man touching her without asking frightened her, making her wary of standing anywhere near a man.

She wanted to hurt this man. She wanted to make him beg her for mercy. Her anger metamorphosed back into intense desire, which shimmered up from her pelvis to her right hand.

“It wasn’t a safe place for anyone there outside of the rich white assholes running it, and there were a lot of folks you would recognize there.” “You mean other Dommes?” “I mean politicians, Rae.

What they were allowing at that party . . . if it was consensual, it didn’t look like it to me.

Action without intention is like slapping clay around, making a mess of it. Viv’s words coming back to her, her face burning with shame.

“Sometimes I forget,” Viv said, almost in a whisper. “Forget what?” Viv finally looked at her, the yellow streetlights creating a shadow mosaic across her face. “How dangerous wounded animals can be.”

“You’re my friend. Nothing you tell me will make me love you less.” Rae wasn’t sure if she believed her, but she wanted so much for it to be the truth.

She wanted to hold her girl, who was on the verge of becoming a woman, to tell her she would always be her baby, her salvation. Instead, she doubled up on her edibles and fell into a troubled sleep.

“Do you think those parties have anything to do with the subs going missing?” “I don’t know.” It felt like they did, but she had no proof of it, only a gut instinct.

“Why are you so curious to know?” “It’s my job to be curious, and I don’t like it when I can’t figure someone out.” “Well, like I tell my daughter, disappointment is the spice of life.”

He chuckled. “I’m rarely disappointed, but then again I’m extremely patient.

“This is why I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you. You cops have no problem busting into a small legal business owned by a couple of women, but when it comes to old, rich white men, you look the other way.”

It astonished her how much they enjoyed watching her step on the dolls or dig her freshly pedicured feet into a piece of cake. The more aggressive, the better. She rarely spoke, but when she did, she’d lower her voice and inject as much sternness behind her words as possible, emulating Viv.

Viv was teaching her about Shibari, the Japanese form of decorative rope bondage, and Rae loved creating intricate patterns with her always-willing Kens and Barbies. She found she was good at it. Plus, it didn’t matter if she imagined the dolls as Clint or any number of the other men who’d hurt her. She could lose control without harming someone like she had with Farrow. She never wanted to hurt anyone like that again.

She couldn’t take much more, and she had always thought she could take on anything. She was a survivor, but sometimes she wondered at what point a person stops surviving and starts imploding.

She used to hate her pouty lips, which reminded her of her mother’s, but now she loved them. She loved gliding red lipstick across them and seeing them pop against her fair skin. She loved how they looked as she blew kisses goodbye to her audience after a scene. And she loved that they helped her make money for a better life. She only wished she could kiss herself with them.

He told her it was normal for guys to watch porn during sex, that it wasn’t as fulfilling for men without it playing in the background, but she knew it was a lie, even when she was fifteen. She’d seen movies, and when people made love, they weren’t watching TV; they were completely enraptured with each other. She knew what romance was supposed to look like.

To love. What she wanted someday. To be held and listened to, to touch and be touched. But her seven-month-pregnant body didn’t care about love. It was horny all the time, and porn and a small vibrator fast-tracked her to orgasmville.

“I’ll take the chance. They need to know about Beth and Maria, so their families will know what happened to them. And if they arrest me for that, then . . . then . . .” Her tears cut off her words.

Without a single reservation, she knew she’d have to hold certain secrets until the day she died. For the most part, it didn’t bother her too much, but she missed intimacy. Not sex but true intimacy, where you share those dark, hidden

parts and feel acceptance.

She’d had many discussions with Lily about consent and what it looked like, and it was easier to tell her she was raped than to tell her all the other horrible things they did to her for their entertainment.

“First off, I want you to know how I feel about my work. There’s nothing wrong with any kind of sex work, even prostitution, as long as it’s consensual and between adults, no matter what the current laws may say.

Those rich, elite motherfuckers. They got to her; Rae knew it in her bones.

“These rich men were going to buy her from Clint and Bobby. I’m not sure what they were going to do with her, but I think the same thing they did with us. The rich men were upset because the first girl, Beth, died when Clint accidentally killed her.”

The detective’s expression grew grimmer. “I know this is difficult to talk about, Rae, and you’re doing a really good job.” He paused. “Now, I need you to tell me everything you know about Beth. What she looked like, her last name if you know it, her age—anything that could be helpful for us to identify her so we can inform her family.”

It wasn’t until she was sitting in her Civic, the September sun shining bright into her hot car, that she realized why she felt so hollow inside. Not once did the detective offer her help after the hell she’d experienced for nearly four long years.

The feather was so detailed it looked real. “That’s a beautiful tattoo,” she said. She had wondered if he was indigenous due to his deep olive complexion, but it felt rude to ask.

When we’re at the party, you will not speak unless I ask you a direct question. And when you answer me, you will include the phrase ‘Yes, Mistress.’ You will not interact with anyone else. If someone touches you, I will take care of it. You’ll need to take all the tough man, patriarchy shit you have and tuck it away for the night because you will be mine for the evening.”

“Aren’t you going to show off your skills?” he said, his lips curling up ever so slightly. “If you consent, sure.” “I do.” “Place your hands behind your back.” Dayton let out a hearty laugh. “I know you got a kick out of saying that, but I like to keep my hands where I can see them.”

She felt it again. His anticipation. It was the same electric current she noticed in her clients the moment before she’d strike them, when their desires reached out to greet her as they welcomed the pain she joyfully bestowed.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said, his eyes saying the opposite of his words.

Rae thought it was more than laziness. It was apathy. Like her mother, unconcerned about anything that didn’t directly affect her.

There were play scenes going on throughout, with small audiences surrounding each. She saw most of the people in attendance were men, and all the men were white, some younger but mostly older. She only saw one other male sub.

One woman submissive was tied to a large Saint Andrew’s cross, but she was clearly unconscious from the way her head and body lay limp and unresponsive to the hits being administered by a male Dominant.

Another woman, who was being held by two large men, was hysterically crying as a younger man finished carving the word “whore” above her right breast.

Rae looked across the room and saw three men having brutal sex with a woman who appeared so out of it there wa...

Rae saw Dayton in the small crowd, his eyes visible through the mask, his body frozen at seeing what Rae saw. The sub’s back was already covered in angry red welts that looked ready to split open.

“Make her bleed,” another older man in the audience said, his voice filled with boredom. “Yes,” the white-haired man said. “Be a good pussy and give us blood.

The sub cried out, not in pleasure, as blood dripped down the woman’s backside, and Rae’s stomach turned. The audience behind her clapped, something so deeply wrong and bizarre to her.

She looked around for a blanket, bottled water, anything at all for aftercare, but there was nothing.

“He has to be. How he treated those women, like they were animals. I wanted to kill him.”

She felt strange, like it was all a dream, and she wanted to be everywhere at once but also inside him, to be in his lungs breathing his air, to feel what he felt touching her and her, him. She knew this feeling, and the realization pulled her from the moment. She needed to say something to him, but she didn’t want it to stop.

“We should stay here until it wears off.” His hands were still on her, his fingers gripping at her hip hard like he wanted to open up her skin and crawl inside. He moved his hand over her stomach and up to the center of her chest, the heat from his palm seeming to go through her.