Red Door Yellow Door Rules Novels & Stories

"Tonight is about your pleasure. Your education. But make no mistake, I am in complete control. You surrender everything to me—your body, your responses, your pleasure. Do you understand?" Honey nodded, then remembered herself. "Yes, Sir." "Fifth rule." His voice dropped even lower. "If at any point you want to stop completely, you say 'red light.' If you need to slow down but not stop, you say 'yellow light.' If all is well, you say 'green light.' When I check in with you, I need you to be honest." "Red, yellow, green. I understand, Sir."

Camille's door was a gentle shade of mint green, little vines crawling along the edges, small flower buds protruding in random locations. I walked down the hallway alone, ultimately finding my own room. As I looked at the door to my bedroom, I grasped why each door was completely unique. They reflected each of the chosen contestants in some way. My own door was a lovely shade of red, not bold or gaudy but warm and appealing. The red faded into various shades of orange and yellow. A thin golden pattern was etched into the door, swirling around the edges and doorknob. The brilliant color matched my fire-kissed hair, and my personality as Aidan would say.

See the Castle in a different light. Then again, the truth is I really wanted to know who Ahbaya was creeping with other than me. I checked all the secret rooms. Just as expected, it's all closed. There’s something odd about the doorknobs though. It’s all in a different color. One is red, one is gold. The other one is brown and when I looked back — mine was just an ordinary door. Huh. Odd. Should I be offended? Why is my doorknob the only one that’s plain?

We’re buzzed in by a man in an immaculate black suit who listens to my verification phrase, ticks a tablet, takes our coats, and gestures us down a short corridor. The corridor opens into a foyer. Marble floor, gold sconces, a discreet bar staffed by a woman in a leather corset who is reading a paperback. To our left, a heavy curtain. Behind the curtain, the soft, controlled hum of a room in scene. The doorman is back. He hands me a small, discreet folder. The night's etiquette card. I read it. House rules, safe word policy, photography prohibition, private rooms available by request, communal play floor open at our discretion.

Perhaps that is the distinguishing difference, and of course I have no way to tell what each color symbolizes. Suddenly, I hear voices from up ahead. They are getting louder so I know I will run into the owners of these voices soon. I panick and reach for the door handle to a grey door on my right. It's locked. I rush to the next one on the right, a pale yellow one, just past the last. It is locked too. Shit! I pray the next one opens and that it is empty. It is a bright red door and it isn't locked. I open it, rush inside, and quietly shut it behind me. My back is pressed up against the door. My eyes are closed and I am focusing on deep breaths so that my heart stops its chaotic fluttering.

“You’re going to give me one before I touch you.” I swallowed. “Red.” “And colors. Green means you’re good. Yellow means slow down or ease up. Red stops everything. No questions, no anger. You use them. Understand?” “Yes.” “Say it back.” “Green means good. Yellow means slow down. Red stops everything.” He nodded once. “Good girl.” Then he moved.

He tossed a thick, leather-bound folder onto the bed next to her. "What is this?" she asked, reaching out to touch the cool leather. "Your life for the next six months," Dark replied. "The Rules of the House. Read them. Memorize them. Break one, and there will be consequences." Iza opened the folder. The pages were vellum, the ink crisp and black. > Rule 1: You do not leave the penthouse without an escort. > Rule 2: You do not enter the private study on the north wing. Ever.

I sat up abruptly and turned on the bedside lamp. Four-thirty in the morning. Still pitch dark outside. I picked up my phone, opened the notes app, and started typing. If we were going to cohabitate, there would be rules. Clear, specific, enforceable rules. I was a lawyer. Drafting agreements was what I did. My fingers flew across the screen. Rule one: Brode Ramsden shall not, under any circumstances, enter Evelyn Winchester's bedroom. This includes but is not limited to knocking, forced entry, keypad override, or directing others to open the door on his behalf.

I commented. Eun-woo ignored me as he continued, “Rule 4: Don’t approach me just because you wanted to; Rule 3: Don’t try to talk to me if it’s not something educational-related; Rule 2: Don’t act as you know me personally; And most importantly, Rule 1: Never let anyone we’re step-siblings no matter what.” “Whoa… look who’s talking,” I mocked him. “Aren’t you the one doing as you pleased between the two of us?”

Oliver wore a white suit with a black button-down dress shirt, which was complimented with a red tie, while Camila was wearing a black dress, which was finished off with white feather details. “Welcome.” I spoke in a casual tone and smiled at them as they entered. “Thank you for your invitation.” Oliver said and then briefly nodded at Klaus and Liam. “The house rules are very simple. Should you wish to play in one of the rooms just let myself or one of the waiters know, and I'll reserve the space for you. You may keep the doors closed or open. When a door is closed, no one may enter. However, if you leave it open, it will be considered an invitation for others to enter and observe your play.