When they reached his front door, he held it open for her and walked her into the bedroom. It was dark, but the moon was almost full and the light streamed in through the window. He led her to the wall and stood her in front of a tall iron sculpture. It was attached firmly to the wall and grew like a black vine, creepers shooting out and up, ends curled in like buds. She had always considered it decoration, but now, on a jutting limb, hung two small leather cuffs and a thick black rope.

“Everything off,” he said.

Josie’s heart quickened. She had seen cuffs like these once, when a boyfriend of hers had taken her to the Pleasure Palace in Los Angeles. They had scanned the aisles, looking and laughing at the apparatus some people needed just to have sex. “I would just laugh,” he had said, and she had agreed, but wondered—with the right person, if he really believed? But no, no one did that in real life, no one was bound with black leather cuffs. And who was punished anyway? Little kids? Yes. Naughty adults? No. Sometimes yes? She had been naughty tonight. But naughty? Even the word seemed full of pretense.

She shook her head and tried to focus on her clothes. She fumbled with her shirt, her jeans, folding each article of clothing before moving onto the next, and soon she was naked except for her panties.

“Those can stay for now,” he said. He turned her so she was facing the wall, cradled her chin in his palm, kissed her cheek, and then ran his hand down her neck to her breasts to her belly. She felt shaky and clumsy, and when he slipped her wrists through the cuffs, she realized she had been holding her breath. She watched him fasten the small buckles, watched him thread the rope first through the steel rings and then over an iron rod above her head. He tied the knot quickly.

“Pull,” he said.

She could hear him, but the word seemed to take forever to get to her brain, and before she could obey, he brought his hand down quickly on her behind. “I said, pull.”

She startled and tugged at the ropes. The knot was solid, and the iron securely attached to the wall, and she knew she would not be able to get out on her own.

“Good,” he said. He stepped away from her, and without him close, she was suddenly afraid. She heard him open the trunk at the end of his bed, and she tried to turn around, to see what he was doing.

“Face forward,” he said, and she did.

Her mind was a tumbling mess, and she focused on the cold iron against her fingertips until she felt something soft graze the backs of her knees.

“This is a cat-o’-nine-tails,” he said. “Do you know what it’s used for?”