I have been going to BDSM parties for ages and I have met some interesting people. A few of them have ended up being partners, for play or relationships, a few of them have become my closest friends, and even some of my worst enemies. But tonight, I'm going to tell you the story of how I met my husband.
I had been making the rounds on dating sites for about a year when I ran across his profile. I had been on a series of bad dates, and a couple who weren't exactly bad, but the chemistry just wasn't there. They were nice, don't get me wrong, they were just missing something. I didn't quite know what it was.
Something about John caught my eye. By all accounts, he was normal. Good-looking, but in an average-guy sort of way. He wasn't terribly into fitness but ran daily, graduated university in town for history and anthropology. Did volunteer work for the library. Few things are sexier to me than a man that loves knowledge and books. We would at least have plenty to talk about when we finally did go out.
I was nervous about talking to him. He honestly felt a little out of my league, but once I did finally message him, he was very well-spoken and sweet. We talked about nothing (well, history and the city mostly) for about two weeks before we decided to meet. It would be the next Friday night. I had agreed to attend a friend's play party that evening, but I'd cut out early to meet him. I had an entire week to fret and psyche myself out about it.
When the day came, I spent the majority of the day shaving and waxing, doing my nails and hair. I rocked my usual black lace and leathers for the party, but packed something a little more casual for when it was time to meet him. We didn't talk about my moonlighting. I've always found that it's best brought up after we knew each other for a while. Some people are still freaked out by the idea that being burned and beaten is fun, but I don't get their apprehension. It's just always been a thing for me.
The party was at the mansion-like house of one of the group members and put together beautifully for Halloween. Black lacy spiderwebs in the entryway, black candelabrums all throughout the house. The candles were white, but seemed to bleed when lit. It was gorgeous. The parlour was big enough to set up a St. Andrew's Cross all the way up as well as a spanking bench. There were other rooms in the house for guests and private sessions, too. I made my rounds, greeted friends and lovers, feeling much more relaxed about the rest of my night. It always made me feel better to surround myself with people that get "that thing we do".
I had agreed to service top for my best female friend, Destiny, when I noticed a few new faces. One of them looked a little like John, and I stopped in the middle of my backswing to double-take and make sure it wasn't actually him. No, it wasn't possible. I'd know if John were one of our crowd. How could I not have met him yet? I knew a lot of the people on the local scene. It can't have been him. I resumed flogging her with a new vigor, temporarily egged on by the thought of seeing him in her position: kneeling in front of me, bent over a bench, naked from the waist up. Her long red hair was replaced with his—dark, and thick. In all his photos online, it was messy, but I could just imagine what it was like free from its bondage. She flagged the safety signal—it was time to stop. I replaced my borrowed tools and fetched her a blanket and Hershey bar. At the end of a particularly intense scene, it's important to treat the inevitable blood sugar drop. Once I was certain she was taken care of, it would be time to head out.
I changed in one of the several bathrooms, careful to not let my anxiety start taking over. Extra perfume, extra deodorant, retouch my makeup. I had to make sure I'd be perfect for him. It may have been the high from doing a scene, but I had such good feelings about this date. Oh, if only I'd have run into him here...I'd know he was perfect!
I said my goodbyes and made my way a few streets over to our destination. Hookah Java was the only hookah bar in town and a pretty popular dating place. It had the perfect atmosphere for romance; low lights, sweet scents, comfortable furniture, coffee, booze, and of course, smoke. The streets were already filling up with college students enjoying a night off, with tourists, with the city's elite looking for a good time. I checked my phone to make sure he hadn't texted, and turned onto the street. I was a little early, but that's fine. I could take a few minutes to compose myself before he got there.
The place was moderately packed. The busiest night was always Saturday, when they ran specials. I did get there before him so I secured us a seat in the Sultan's Den, a private room at the back of the bar. Anyone could use it unless it was reserved, and I was thankful nobody had booked it tonight. I took a few minutes to go ahead and order us a hookah and myself a hot chocolate before they got too busy. I scanned the list of shisha flavours...the girl at the front recommended a blend of plum, jasmine, and honey. It sounded absolutely decadent, and that's exactly what I was looking for.
In a few more minutes, it was time.
I watched the door from the secluded corner, nearly jumping every time the bell rang. A succession of people came in, but none of them looked like him. The sound system cycled Fitz and the Tantrums as I tried to relax. The baristo delivered my hookah. It was two feet tall and a beautiful twist of chrome and blue and golden glass, with two hoses. He set down a plate of sanitary tips to go with it. The bowl had been packed prior to setting it up, so all he had to do was drop two lumps of hot charcoal on it to get it heating up. It would take a bit to heat up sufficiently to smoke, so I claimed which hose would be mine and waited.
The next person to come in made me pause. It looked like him, certainly, but it was like two different artists' impressions of the same person. This John was everything a shade darker. He was very slim and fit in his black trousers and black Oxford, and his sure stride to the counter spoke volumes about his confidence. I had enough time to panic, watching him talk to the barista that seated me. He thanked her, and turned to continue on in my direction.
"Hey," I said, standing and extending my hand. "I'm Emma Renaud."
"Hey there, Emma. I'm John."
He held my hand tight, and a little too long. I was enchanted.
The Sultan's Den had a foofy couch, a sizeable table, Morroccan lanterns for lighting, and floor cushions. He slid down next to me and was devoured by the couch cushions. I know it was nothing, but I could feel the electricity of our legs touching and the slow burn of arousal drowned out the anxiety. I should have known better than to go on a date right after a BDSM party.
John was not at all what I had been expecting, but at the same time, he was. He was all smiles and clever jokes and fun, but something simmered below the surface. He had a kind of masculine grace.
John's fingers were long and slender, wrapped delicately around the hookah's hose. I wondered idly how he felt. I'd taken his hand when he introduced himself, but a handshake is not the same as being touched naked, or better yet, soothing bruises after a hard night at play. I shivered, thinking that over for a minute. He was ordering something to drink, so I had a few minutes to fantasize. Oh, he was gorgeous. In this light, his dark eyes were nearly black and full of mischief. He caught me looking and smiled. I'm sure my face was crimson, but I smiled back. How did I get so lucky?
My hot chocolate arrived. It was sweet and full and rich, and I temporarily lost my mind and offered him a taste. Mostly, I just wanted to watch his hands. He held the cup up to his lips and then returned it, tongue darting out to tidy a bit of foam that stayed behind. "It's wonderful," he said. "I didn't know this was so good or I'd have skipped the beer." It seemed if he was comfortable enough to drink with me, it would probably be okay for me to start asking some of the tough questions.
"So," I started carefully. "Do anything crazy with your time?"
"Such as?"
Oh, I don't know. You just seem so normal, is all. I'm curious."
"Well, I do have a small confession."
"I'm all ears."
"I was at a party before I came here to meet you. It got a little crazy, but I don't usually let go at things like that. I don't like feeling...I guess, trapped."
No.
Surely not.
Did I actually catch a glimpse of him earlier in the night?
"Huh. I was at a party too."
"Strange. Well, I doubt we were at the same place. I'd have noticed you," he said.
I paused, unsure how to continue.
"At the risk of sounding like a creep, I think you're beautiful. I mean, I got here and was all like, wow, I'm lucky."
I couldn't hide the big smile.
"Funny. I was thinking the same thing. You look so...different."
"Different? It's my hair, I bet."
"No, it's something else. I think it's this light. You're more...I don't know. Vivid."
It was his turn to smile.
"I'm glad we did this."
"Me too."
Our moment was interrupted by the baristo, returning with a new bowl of shisha and his Dos Equis. He took a long drink from his beer as I pulled deep and slow from the hose. The warm, sweet smoke filled my lungs and I held it there a minute before exhaling. My head swam a little. It got very warm in there.
I did a lot of watching in between conversing. I generally don't agree to go out with someone if I haven't considered the possibility of sleeping with them. In his case, if my mind hadn't been made up yet, it certainly was now. He drained his beer and relaxed further back into the couch. I pulled my legs out from under me and dared to stretch out a little, settling comfortably against his side. For him, smoking was this sensual act. I noted that he didn't use a sanitary tip (then again, neither did I) and pulled deep and strong from the hose. He exhaled slowly through his nose, the smoke trailing up to the lanterns and dissipating. It was mesmerizing. The longer we talked, the less uptight he seemed. An hour, a bowl, and two thousand years of history later, he stood to excuse himself to the facilities. I sat there in the minutes he was gone pondering my good fortune and figuring out my limits for the night.
If he wanted to come home with me, I was down with it. If he wanted to go somewhere else, I was fine with that too. It was going brilliantly. To listen to him talk about history, particularly that of the Italian Renaissance, it was enchanting as well as educational. It was clear he held such a passion for the past. And passion carries over to passion, in my experience. I didn't know quite how to proceed, but I made up my mind to address it when he returned.
He did return, taking his seat and stretching over to my end of the couch. "I hope this isn't too forward," he said, laying his hand on my knee.
"Don't worry, it isn't."
I smiled and squeezed his hand, breathless.
"I just have one question, and sorry if it seems prying, but I had this thought earlier and I can't let it go," I said.
"Yes?"
"I think I did see you earlier tonight. I was at the Roberts House at that party and I saw this guy in there, and for a second I thought maybe it was you. But you know, the people I hang out with...I mean, I thought I'd know if it was you."
He got very quiet and took another pull, perhaps stalling to think. He exhaled and adjusted his position.
"That's exactly where I was."
"I see."
We were silent for a beat, both of us probably trying to figure out the best way to bring it up.
"So I guess we both just outed ourselves, huh?" I tried to make light of it.
"I guess so," he chuckled and exhaled deep.
"Well, I guess there's an entire world of things we haven't talked about yet."
"So it would seem."
The baristo came back in to groom our coals and make sure we didn't need anything else. John ordered another beer, and I asked to see the wine list. It was going to be that kind of night.
"I service top for certain people," I started. "But I really prefer to submit."
"I do enjoy a good beating now and then, but I'm very much dominant."
"You certainly look the part," I said, taking advantage of being able to shamelessly look him over. He very much did look like the picture of a Dom. Tall, dark, handsome. It fit.
"Come to think of it, I think I have seen you around," he said. "You look very different in street clothes. I might have never placed you if we hadn't have...you know, outed ourselves."
He pulled on his hose and relaxed back into the couch. I did the same, letting the fumes go to my head. He was so close to me now. Surely some of the walls have come down.
I crept over and laid my hand flat against his thigh, careful to not place it too high. It was solid and warm, and I could imagine what it felt like to be bent over it.
The baristo returned with his beer and my wine. I'd decided on a red velvet dessert wine. It was sweet and you could hardly taste the alcohol. It was exactly what I needed. Ungraceful as it might have been, I drained half the glass at once and pulled on the hose again. I wanted anything to enhance my tactile sensations. He didn't move my hand away.
We talked more, feeling a little more at ease with discussing our private lives. He had been in the lifestyle since about twenty-one and he was twenty-eight now, that was quite a bit of experience. I had been doing it since I was eighteen and was now twenty-five...we were comparable in that sense. I racked my brain, trying to think of if I had ever run into him before or if anyone I knew had played with him before. I couldn't come up with any answers, but I had to know what it was like.
We killed our drinks and the bowl. As we were about to ask for refills, the baristo let us know that the band was about to take the stage, and that was our cue to exit. It was a small place, and a live band would make it near impossible to talk.
"So, do you want to get out of here and go someplace less loud?" He beat me to it.
"Sure, what have you got in mind?"
He paid for our tab (an unexpected surprise!) and we took our leave, exiting the humidor and taking to the streets.
After a bit of discussion, we settled on the boozy coffee shop across the street. Common Grounds was a good starting or ending point, depending how your night was going. I loved their coffee and sweets, and he liked that they had real food late.
On the walk over, I was definitely a little tipsy. John held my arm in his and it stabilized me, but it also made me come a little unglued. I have always loved the electrical feel of touching someone new, and this time was no different. There's something about it. I stood close enough to him to be able to catch the scent of his cologne, very rich and complex, likely something more sophisticated than Old Spice. I couldn't tell if the flush in my cheeks was him or the wine. I noticed some of the people on the street turning to look, very likely at him. And he was with me. The thought warmed me from the inside out.
We took over a table in a secluded corner of the coffee shop. It was very full in there—one of the few places you could go to get a real meal this time of night. He ordered a glazed croissant and I wanted one too. I had the thought of ordering a cocktail, but stopped when it occurred to me that it might not be a good idea to go home with him not at full capacity. The food was delicious and sobering.
"So, I guess it's come to this," I said, cramming part of the overstuffed pastry in my mouth.
"Hm?"
"What are your plans for the rest of the night?"
"That's completely up to you. I don't work weekends."
"Well, I'm not ready for the night to be over."
He looked pensieve at his croissant.
"It doesn't have to be."
"My place or yours?"
"I think you'd enjoy seeing parts of my place," he said. "Do you need to go home and grab anything?"
"If you don't mind. I walked here and didn't exactly plan for it to go this brilliantly."
That got a smile out of him.
"Sure. Let's finish up here, then I'll take you by your place."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
He reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
Once again, he picked up the bill. I frantically dug around in my coat pocket for the chapstick I knew was in there somewhere and quickly glazed it on as he put his wallet away and crammed the receipt in his pocket. Once outside, he offered me his arm again and I took it. He'd parked all the way at the end of the street and it would take a bit to get there. I couldn't help but glow. This gorgeous man is taking me home. Me, me, me. Out of all the women in the city, he chose me.
The drizzle was turning into soft snow by the time we'd gotten halfway down. I hugged his arm closer, savoring the warmth. We had to stop at a crossing where there was a crowd gathered around an obnoxious street preacher.
"And the fires of hell will rain down upon the frat boys and sorority girls in this city, this Fayette-Evil!" He was literally thumping on a Bible as he went on his tirade. The aforementioned people were actually a big part of the crowd surrounding him, taking video with their phones and laughing at him. He stopped and pointed through the crowd.
"You! Young man! Do you know the litany of sins you've committed tonight? I'll bet you've been drinking!"
I almost died of embarrassment. He was pointing at John.
John stopped and turned to him, eyebrow cocked, smile playing at the edges of his mouth.
"Do tell, Bob. What sins have I been up to tonight? Has your lord made you all-knowing as well as loud and insufferable?"
A few people laughed and whooped. The preacher reddened and opened his Bible.
"You've consumed alcohol! You've probably smoked the marijuana! And I'd be willing to bet my entire next check you're about to FORNICATE!" His voice got progressively louder and was an absolute screech at the end. John smiled wide and chuckled.
"Well, Pastor, you got me there. I've had a few drinks and I certainly hope fornication is in my future."
The crowd hooted and clapped and cheered. John leaned down and kissed me.
I forgot for a second that people were staring at us. His mouth was so soft and warm and he pulled away entirely too soon. It may have been fairly chaste, but it worked the Preacher up in a frenzy. There was something very dirty about kissing in public, especially in front of a supposed man of God who was foaming at the mouth.
He let go and turned back to Preacher Bob. "Goodnight, Preacher. Hope your night goes as good as mine!" People clapped after us and we crossed the street.
"I hope that wasn't too crass for you," he said.
"Not at all. I hate that guy."
"Well, it wasn't exactly what I had planned for our first kiss, but I kind of got caught up in the moment."
"It's okay," I said. We were almost to the end of the street. It was much quieter here.
"If you want a do-over, I'd happily oblige."
We stopped for a second. I stood on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck for support. He kissed me again, but this time it was perfect. Slow and soft and sensual. And this time it was me who had to let go first, as I lost my balance a little.
Once I was flat on my feet again, we just stood for a minute watching each other. His smile was so genuine, and so catching. This was the magic, the chemistry I had been craving for so long. I laid my head against his chest and just held on to him for a minute. I wasn't drunk anymore, but I certainly was under the influence of something. The night was still young, the snow was still coming down, the sky was grey with parts in the clouds revealing stars. Yes, the night was young and we were both so beautiful.
At my apartment, I packed a weekend bag just in case. I texted Destiny and asked her if she'd mind looking after my cats, since she'd be coming by to get to class anyway. With them taken care of, I didn't have anything to worry about. Even if it did snow deep, she'd stayed over before and I trusted her. I also went ahead and packed my favourite toys: a long, heavy suede flogger, a shorter pink leather one, various glass insertables, plenty of condoms, an extra bottle of lube, and a hank of soft poly-fiber rope. They fit fine into my gym bag among my clothes and soap. I hugged Mr. Boots and Saucy, made sure their bowls were full, and locked up. I couldn't get the feel of his lips and teeth out of my mind, and of course I wondered about them roaming everywhere. If that kiss was anything to go by, tonight was going to be absolutely fabulous.
He didn't question my bag. We did discuss limits and safety on the way to his place, though. It's important to have those talks before the heat of the moment takes over.
After sorting through limits and health issues, we negotiated what was sure to be a long, glorious scene. He'd start with massage and firecupping, progress on to impact. And after that, sex was a possibility. Probability, if we're being honest, but I wasn't ready to say it just yet. If I could trust him with fire, I could trust him with anything. It turns out he had attended some demonstrations by some of the people I knew and trusted from the group, so I didn't anticipate a problem. He lived in an actual house rather than an apartment, and had a room that by day was an office but could be easily converted into a dungeon by opening some trunks and putting together an ingenious collapsible cross. I marveled at his ingenuity. He'd built the cross himself.
His place was very nice. It wasn't one of those houses with a name like we had visited earlier in the night, but it was large and in the historical district. A master bed and bath, two guest rooms, and the office, he'd said. He had more than enough to buy the house outright with an inheritance and very much enjoyed entertaining, though it had been a while since any of the rooms other than his saw use. He gave me a quick tour and said I was welcome to occupy any of the rooms for the night, including his own. Then he showed me how his office changed.
Luxe velvet curtains, bookcases overfilled, and a long, solid cherry desk and ergonomic chair were on one side. The other had a peculiar-looking knickknack shelf that I assumed was the cross in disguise. He removed the potted cactus and the glass things on it and put them on a shelf in the open closet nearby. As he assembled the cross, I just watched. It was incredible that he'd figured this out and built it with his own hands. He stood back and admired his work.
"Emma, do you want to borrow the facilities? I need a minute or two to get ready in here."
"Yes, I was about to ask," I said.
"It's the second door to your right out there. I don't know your process for getting into headspace, but now would be a good time."
I nodded and left him to his work.
In the bathroom, I took a quick shower and changed into my nicest underwear. Mesh and lace look wonderful on everyone, I think. I pulled on thigh-high fishnets and removed my earrings. I wondered if I should go out just in this or if I should go ahead and cover it. Would he want to undress me, or would it be a hinderence? I decided I wasn't ready to just go out there undressed yet.
I didn't realize how long I'd been in the bathroom. He knocked and asked if everything was okay. Of course it was, so I stepped out and asked if I could come in the dungeon. He opened the door and ushered me inside. It could have been a completely different room.
Tea lights lined the desk and illuminated the room, and the delightfully heady aroma of opium filled the room. It wasn't an incense burner like I had, but an oil lamp. In the middle of the room, there was what looked like an oversized footstool, but I knew better than that. Beside it, a smaller stool, a bucket of water, many round glasses, and a bigger candle. I'd seen enough demonstrations to know how this was going to go down and I couldn't wait.
He put his hand on my shoulder and I turned to face him. He'd rolled up his sleeves and ticked the topmost buttons of his shirt undone, exposing just a little skin.
He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back into him. I felt soft lips and breath on my neck, hands creeping up to help me undress. I struggled with headspace...I needed to be able to trust him, to submit. But at the same time, it was all so new. I took a few deep breaths as he worked, finally able to just chill and enjoy. He pulled at my simple dress, trying to help me out of it. In one fluid motion, I grabbed the hem and peeled it over my head, throwing it over by the door.
I stood there, feeling overexposed, as he moved in front of me to see exactly what he had to work with.
"You're lovely," he said, offering me his hand.
"Thanks. This is all so..."
"Hey. Don't worry about it. Enjoy."
He led me over to the pouf and took his own seat. He was readying a few more objects, and I realized I still had too much on for this to work. I reached behind my back and flicked the hooks holding my bra shut. I peeled it off too, watching his face as I did. It joined my dress near the door. He didn't feel the same shame that I did about watching. His eyes raked over me, and I could feel it as sure as it were his hands.
I laid face-down on the pouf. It was small enough that I could stretch my whole body across it and still be supported. I could smell him pouring the alcohol into another glass, smell the burning fibers of the bore-cleaners used to ignite the flames in the glasses. That wasn't the first step, though. In order to do safe, sensational firecupping, the first step was applying a protective layer of oil between the skin and glass.
I smelled it before I felt it. Lavender baby oil. He covered his hands with it and smoothed a thin layer of it all over my bare back. As he worked, he loosened the painful lumps of nerves in my shoulders and in the middle of my back. Blood rushed to both my head and between my legs as his hands drifted lower, spreading the oil to my lower back, my kidneys, down to the line of my underwear. He hesitated for a second, then stroked up the length of my spine. I melted into the pouf.
I heard water splash. Since I wasn't looking, my other senses were that much stronger. Surely at this point he was washing the excess oil off his hands and getting the first cup ready.
"Okay. Are you ready? You remember your colour codes?" he said.
I nodded.
I felt the heat of what had to be the flaming bore-cleaner close to my skin, and then heard the clink! of the tap to the rim of the glass, then pressure on my shoulderblade where the first cup went. The way it works is that he soaks the bore-cleaner in alcohol, lights it on fire, taps it on the edge of the glass to catch fire in the cup, and then inverts it on my skin. It forms a vacuume, which squeezes the muscles deliciously and drains oils and impurities from the first layer of my skin. It's warm and tense and absolutely decadent.
Seven more clinks, seven more cups. Both my shoulderblades and all the way down my spine tensed and relaxed. I felt myself slipping further down into headspace. It was similar to the heady, nearly drunk feeling I got from smoking the hookah for a while, without the brain-clouding of the wine. He trailed his fingertips in between the cups, pressing in on the smaller knots and working them loose. He held one of the cups, poised to move it across the oily layer on my skin, but I raised my hand.
"Hey, please don't move them. It doesn't feel as good when they move." I said, a little surprised at how quiet my voice was coming out.
"Okay, sorry. I didn't know."
He went back to softly stroking my sides and the space between the cups and I sank deeper into space than before.
It could have been ten minutes or ten hours, I wasn't sure. I vaguely remember him saying something about time to pop off the cups. The last one on became the first off. He pried up the edge with his fingertip and the rest came off with an audible pop. Cool air assaulted the spot where the cup was, and it wasn't very nice. The muscles under there stayed relaxed, though. One by one, the rest of the cups popped off, leaving slimy residue behind. He cleaned me off with a soft rag and just let me lay there for a minute.
"How was it?" he said.
"Glorious. Thank you." I was slowly coming back to my senses.
"Think you're up for some impact?"
"Hell yes. I need a minute, I think my legs have turned to jelly."
He helped me up and just held me for a minute. God, he was so solid and warm and comforting. I hadn't realized how much the firecupping relaxed everything, but I was positively soaked between my legs. I'm sure the scent was obvious if even I could tell it was there. A definite lump pressed into my belly; he'd thoroughly enjoyed himself as well. I took his chin in my hands and pulled him down to kiss me again. If I wasn't careful, we'd end up naked before anything else had time to happen.
I wasn't afraid to take what I wanted this time. I kissed him hard and deep, crashing into his nose and letting my hands go wherever they wanted. His chest, his arms, down to his pants...he stopped me there, though, gently removing my hands and placing them back on his chest. So that's how he wanted to play this?
He broke from me.
"Not yet. You feel too good," he said, breath a little ragged. I tried to hide my smile.
"Come on. Up on the cross. I adjusted it down for your height," he said. I obeyed, and he guessed very well. The leather straps held my hands up securely and I didn't need to stand on my toes like at most parties.
"You remember your colours?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Oh, he really was the devil.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now turn."
His voice changed. It lost a little of its warmth, but what it lost in that it gained in assuredness. He was firm and very in control and I loved it.
I turned away from him and waited. I could hear him moving around and doing something, but I didn't know what. When the first bars of Son Lux's Easy filled the room, I understood. He was one of those people that kept time with a beat. Firecupping was best done in the silence between breaths, but impact was made for music.
I felt him slide up behind me and slip his hand between my legs. I gasped and he pushed them apart, forcing me to stand wide, X-shaped, against the cross. Something soft brushed my leg as he stepped away from me. It took me by surprise when the first hit came, but it wasn't hard yet. The first strokes with this flogger were gentle, making a path down from my shoulders to my ass, then a surprise swing up between my spread legs. I had to fight to keep my knees from buckling. Oh my god, it had been a while since someone worked me over this damn good.
His strokes became a little harder, a little faster. Midnight City came up next, and he adjusted to fit the bass. A steady stream of average blows came down, and he didn't miss a beat. I was sorry I couldn't see him work, I just knew it was gorgeous. Imagining that lithe body in fluid motion, swinging repeatedly, it's almost like a dance. I was still firmly in reality, but I wasn't sure for how much longer.
He slowed down again, but what he lacked in speed, he made up for in power. His downswing got harder, and I caught myself holding my breath in between blows. For an entire bridge, he focused entirely on my ass and it was actually getting a little hard to stand. I couldn't tell if it was even the same tool, it felt so much more thuddy. I couldn't analyze it too much, though. The pain started fading into the same feelings as pleasure, and when he came back up to my spine, I nearly lost my balance. The leather didn't let me fall, but it bit into my wrists. I let out a yelp, but he didn't pause. His onslought continued through the end of the song and he slowed and let up a little towards the end.
"Colour?" he said.
"Green," I said, but it was through clenched teeth.
He swapped out tools to what I was certain was my pink flogger as the next song began. The Faint's backbeat was quick and relentless, so were his swings. This was definitely my pink flogger, I knew the sting so well. I felt my skin heating up. Surely he was leaving marks at this point. I thought I was actually going to cry when he made his way back down to my ass, it was still so raw from the last thrashing. It wasn't more than I could handle, though, so I let the tears well up and bit my tongue.
That tool lasted as long as the song did. The next swap was something else. I love Tiesto and didn't know why I had never thought to include him on a scene playlist before. I also loved the big suede flogger he was using. I could tell by the length of the falls. Every word was a whack.
We can just run
Them
Red
Lights
And then he swung fast and furious right after. I was starting to lose my ability to stand. My head hung forward and my knees finally buckled, and I just hung there. I had completely come apart and only the straps kept me from falling down completely.
"Emma?" he said, not stopping.
"Colour?"
"Green." I was out of breath but it was still within my threshold.
"Okay, then..."
Red Lights ended, and Lana Del Rey's Body Electric began. My body was so feeling electric. He dropped the tool he was using and stepped forward, running his hands from my shoulders to my thighs, squeezing the thick parts and admiring his work.
"You've marked so beautifully," he whispered against my neck. Oh god, it made me shiver and almost collapse.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you. Thank you."
The words came out before I could stop them. This was the release I had been craving for months. This longing, this precious ache, this pain-pleasure-torture-arousal. He played with the tops of my hose for a second, then felt me up. I could feel the moisture when he touched me and I could almost feel the devilish smirk I just knew he was pulling, knowing that he did this to me.
"Are we done?" he said, still touching me, but staying above the fabric.
"Whatever makes you happy, sir, please."
"That's what I like to hear."
It killed me when he took his hand away. I knew better than to utter a peep, though, lest he decide to not do it again.
I felt something cold, then hot, dripping down my back and then his hands spreading it all over me just as he had done with the oil. I couldn't stop crying out this time, the throbbing between my legs was getting so intense. I felt a drop slide down in the gap between my underwear and skin, roll down my ass, and disappear with the rest of the wetness that was threatening to soak through. I pulled my legs together in an attempt to get some kind of relief, but he jerked them back apart immediately.
Whatever he put on me made my skin burn, but in the best kind of way. I'd heard about this stuff before, but never used it. It made impact way more intense, and for a second, I wasn't sure if I could handle what he had planned. His hands were gone again, and the song was ending. I could almost feel the bass in the next song, pounding on my skin everywhere.
I knew he was skilled before, but this time took it to another level entirely.
Time bled together and the strokes from this new flogger all felt connected. It was hard and thuddy and relentless, and I couldn't think. All I could do was feel, and tremble, and I had to fight the urge to vocalize. It all hurt so bad and felt so good at the same time. Just when it was starting to feel like I needed to call yellow, he was behind me and kissing my neck and giving me the attention I desperately needed. He'd rub through the fabric until I was grinding against his hand, whimpering, very near the point of begging. When he stepped back again I cried out in protest.
"Your patience will be rewarded. Still green?" he said.
I nodded, unsure exactly how much more torture I could take before I came apart completely.
More thrashing. So intense. Knees got weak. Lost all vocal control. Tears streamed.
I was aware of the song in the background, and I knew it would end soon. He was ramping back down and I was getting control of myself again. I made up my mind to yellow if he wasn't ready by the end.
The room quieted for a minute, and the feelings stopped. He was behind me again, this time unbuckling the restraints that were the only thing holding me up. Cut loose, I fell rather ungracefully back against him. He helped me down to the floor and held me tight against his chest. He cradled my head against his heart and I could hear it pounding hard and fast.
"Okay," he said. "We're going to rest a minute. Are you okay?"
I nodded, not quite ready for real words yet.
"Good. I'm surprised, you're a real badass, you know?"
I smiled weakly.
"I was expecting you to at least yellow at some point. Good girl. Very good girl."
Those words could have killed me yet again. There was nothing on earth I would rather hear than that.
He kissed my forehead and exhaled slowly. I felt his heart slow down a little, still pounding strong, but not so panicked. I came back to my senses enough to sit up straighter and plant a soft kiss on the side of his mouth. There was so much that I wanted to say but it was just too soon and would be creepy.
"Feeling better, then?" he smiled and smoothed down my hair.
"I know how you can say thank you," He let go of me and got up, crossing a few feet to the very nice office chair at his desk.
I totally knew where he was going with this and I was totally on board with it.
He was unfastening his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. I got up and crawled over to him on my hands and knees, sitting up on my feet between his legs as he freed himself from black satin boxers. I pulled myself up using his legs and admired the view for a minute. Oh, he was thick and the vein creeping up the side was still throbbing. So this is what he was dealing with while he was wrecking me. I looked up at him and took him all the way back in my throat. The look on his face was totally worth the near-gag it took to get him back that far.
The sound that came out of him was somewhere between a moan and a growl and I wanted more of it.
I worked him over with a skill borne of practice and enthusiasm, keeping him back in my throat as long as I could, then slowly letting him back out, knowing how intense it was when I let go. He tangled his hands in my hair, sighing and going so very tense all over. His thighs were like steel. I held onto them to keep myself stable, but it didn't look like I'd need to for long. This delectable flush gathered on the little slice of chest I could see and crept up to his cheeks. As soon as I tasted salt, I switched to my hands, keeping a fast and rough pace, wanting nothing more in the world than to watch him die just a little and make that incredibly sexy sound again.
It didn't take long. Ragged breaths turned into a full-throated moan, and that was the absolute edge. His hips jerked and so did everything else, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back and surrendered completely. My god, it was simply beautiful.
Well, that's the end of those pants.
"Oh my god, Emma. Oh my god." His voice was just a little too high. I smirked, taking immense satisfaction in destroying him as much as he'd done to me. His breathing scaled back to something resembling normal. I wiped my hands on his pants and he laughed, full and rich.
"Beautiful, wonderful Emma. Your turn." I backed away from him so he could stand and...finish stripping?
He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor. He stepped out of his shoes and took the rest of it down with it, and there he was, naked and unbelievable and mine.
I sat back and just watched for a bit as he got down on his knees and crawled over to me. He pushed me flat on my back and pulled my legs open, hooking his fingers in the sides of my panties and unceremoniously yanking them down and off. They were flung off somewhere and I was completely exposed. He stroked down my thighs, savouring the differing texture of my skin and my hose, before diving right down into me. He inhaled deep and slipped his tongue between my lips and I almost snapped my legs shut right on his head. He held my legs open with those big hands and drove me absolutely insane, going from long, languid strokes to barely touching me.
He came up for air, stopping to wipe his chin.
I took that opportunity to sit back up and kiss him. I didn't care that his face was drenched with me, I just had to have him. I held his face in my hands and kissed him like he would disappear if I stopped. He raked his hands down my back and held my ass, and it fit perfectly in his hands. We broke for a second to breathe, and I took a big chance.
"Please?" I said, terrified he'd say no.
"Yes, yes, oh my god, yes." He laid back against the carpet, pulling me up on top of him and taking my mouth with him. I had to be careful how I maneuvered; he was hard again.
I really didn't like being on top, but to get him inside in the first place, it would be much easier on me to control the depth and speed. Oh man, this was going to hurt.
I supported myself on my hands and raised up, giving him the room to guide himself into me. His head hurt a little, and to be honest, I was a little tight from disuse. But once it popped through, the rest slid in easily and holy mother of GOD he felt incredible. I loved the stretching, the need to contort my walls to be able to fit him in. I sat up on him for a minute, just getting used to being filled again after so long. I moved up, wanting to torture him as badly as he'd done to me the entire night. My descent was agonizingly slow, for both of us, I'm sure.
We continued like that for a bit. He became impatient and tried to move with me, grinding his hips up into me again when he was almost completely out. That felt good enough that I didn't mind he was trying to take my control. As fun as it was, what I really wanted was for him to stay on top, to keep being the Sir he'd become in the last few hours.
"Take over?" I said.
He smiled and held tight to my hips, moving me as he wanted. Still slow, but harder.
That still wasn't quite what I wanted.
"Get on top," I said, trying to catch my breath.
"What was that?"
"Please, sir, please."
"I don't think I understand what you want. Now, what was that?"
He pulled almost all the way out and then just stopped. It was fucking maddening.
"Please, please fuck me. I've been good all night, please just fuck me."
Oh, that bastard loved it.
One more long, slow thrust up, and then he was out of me and giving me space to climb off. I switched places with him, laying flat on the carpet enough that my back popped a good four or five times. Oh my god. I spread my legs wide for him, absolutely dying to get him back inside.
He kneeled between my legs and teased me mercilessly, dragging his head over my opening, barely sliding inside. I bit my lip and waited. He just wanted to watch me squirm. Satisfied with making me crazy, he slipped back in, and it felt even better than when I was on top. At this angle, he hit all the right places and it was almost perfect.
He leaned down and kissed me, wrapping his arm around me and supporting himself that way. It crushed me close to him and this wasn't at all what I was expecting. We'd gone from destroying each other to whatever this was in a matter of minutes, and it was intense enough to bring fresh tears to my eyes. I don't know what it was, but something changed and we weren't just fucking anymore.
We kissed and touched and moved together slowly and deliberately, but it still wasn't quite getting it for me. I reached down between our bodies and rubbed, finally finding what it was that I needed. As good as it felt, it was a little hard to concentrate because I was still trying to memorize every inch of him that I could get my hands and mouth on.
I gave up. Surely this wouldn't be the last time we'd do this. I had plenty of time to learn his body. Right now, I needed relief.
"I'm getting close," he said. His breath was hot and ragged on my neck. I was getting there too, but not as fast. "Where do you want...?"
"Just...don't worry. I have an IUD, it's fine."
"God, Emma...oh my god..." he sighed, burying his nose in my neck and completely coming apart.
I could feel him coming, from his erratic movements to the heat that was rapidly filling me, but he didn't slow down. It wouldn't take much, I just needed to get up over that edge.
"Come on, you've been such a good girl, you deserve this." His voice was soft and sweet but there was that edge to it, that seductive note that made me want to do whatever he asked.
"Come for me, Emma. You're so close."
It didn't seem like much, but it was enough. The world exploded and I saw stars—I could hear him talking, but I don't know what he was saying. I removed my hand and raked it up his side, just wanting to touch everything at once.
I came down. He stayed inside, but barely. His arm trembled a little, probably exhausted from having to hold his weight. He climbed off me and came the rest of the way out, moving instead to lay next to me and fold me up against his chest. We didn't speak, but then again, I don't think we needed to. I listened to his breathing, to his heart. The music was still on in the background, seemingly following the mood and flowing into a quiet acoustic cover of Dancing In the Dark.
I didn't want to fight it. I wanted to lay back and surrender to the waves of feelings taking me over. For once, I wanted to run towards somebody instead of running away. I could feel myself attaching, perhaps even falling in love. Never before had I actually felt it happen. But the gradual shift in my chest and brain was very much there.
Fluid seeped from inside me to stain my hose. I didn't want to ruin his carpet, so I crossed my legs and pressed them tight against his own. I followed the trail of dark hair from the tangle on his pubic bone up to his flat belly, to his chest. His heart thudded steadily under my palm and I hoped against all reason that it was as traitorous as mine.
He broke the silence first.
"I think maybe we ought to wash up and turn in," he said, though he made no move to rise from the floor.
"I think so. I feel disgusting," I giggled, suddenly both nervous and aware of the various sticky fluids that probably covered my whole body.
"Come on. My shower is huge," he said, rising, then extending a hand to me. I took it, and was immediately grossed out that my own hand was slimy.
I followed him through the house to his bedroom, and the master bath attached to it. He kept his own room dark, so I couldn't see much of it, but the bathroom was luxurious. Red and gold, clean lines, plush crimson towels. He started the shower and let it heat up. "I'll go grab your bag," he said, and it occurred to me perhaps he was trying to give me some privacy. I took advantage of that.
He returned with my bag and some clothes of his own. I waited for him, stepping in the shower after he did. He closed his eyes and stuck his head under the water, flushed from the heat. He got himself saturated and switched spots with me. I relaxed under the stream but it stung on my back. He must have worked me over better than I thought if it still burned. The scent of his soap filled the stall—warm and musky, patchouli and citrus and something else that I couldn't quite figure out. He passed me my own soap, which was vanilla and sandalwood. The scents mixed well.
We changed places again, giving him room to rinse. He slopped conditioner through his hair and rubbed it into his scalp. I'd never seen a man take such care of his hair, but then again, he'd been the first I'd met in ages that didn't have a short cut. He left it in and stepped back. When I took my place under the water, he turned me to face him and gently took my face in his hands. He tilted my head back into the stream and ran his fingers through my hair. I sighed, just enjoying the feel of him touching me like this.
He washed my hair for me. The tenderness of this act surprised me. It didn't feel like we'd just met for the first time tonight. He dipped my head back for the third time, rinsing out the conditioner. When my head came up clean, I pulled him under the water with me and held onto him. He was fine with that for a bit, but ended up shuffling me to the other side to rinse himself off. I stepped out of the shower and rolled up in one of the huge squashy towels, reveling in the difference to my thin, overworked ones at home. I held his open for him when he stepped out also. God, he was a glorious sight nude. It was like some Greek statue come to life.
I changed into a tank top and satin shorts. He was so charming in just his plaid pyjama pants. "I'm grabbing something to drink, do you want something too?" he said, making his way towards the kitchen. He dropped his towel in the bin outside the door. I followed suit.
"That sounds good. My throat's getting dry," I padded after him.
In his fridge, he had good beer, plenty of meat and fruit, and some very questionable cheese. I smiled at the ten cans of instant croissants as well. We did have that in common.
He poured me a mug of non-alcoholic cider and one for himself. Both of them went in the microwave. I walked across to the living room to look out the big bay window I didn't notice before. It was really coming down now, the snow was fat flakes collecting on everything outside. It was beautiful. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
He brought me my mug and stood behind me, wrapped his arms around me as I took a drink. It was so sweet and warm and good. So was he.
"Come to bed with me?" he said.
I nodded.
He pulled the cord of a lamp on his nightstand, illuminating the room. It was all warm woods, reds, gold, and luxe. Thick curtains like in the office, many surfaces and I could see all the nefarious uses for them. He peeled back the duvet with its plush red quilting and gold vine filigree. The sheets under were so soft, but there was only an impression on his side. It broke my heart to see the very obvious shape of his body curled over on one side and then just...bareness on my side.
I climbed in and settled under the blankets. He got in next to me and pulled the light out. I snuggled into his side, laying my head against his arm. I trailed my hand down his chest, trying to find a nice place to lay it while I waited for sleep. I think I had the direct opposite effect I was hoping for, though. I felt the sheets become disturbed and he turned to kiss me. I'm sure he had designs for a chaste, soft goodnight kiss after a wonderful night, but that's not what happened. Before I had time to figure it out, we were winding around each other and kissing and touching and smouldering.
"Oh my god," he laughed. "We were going to bed, right?"
He snaked his hands down my thighs from behind and I was bought and paid for.
This time he got me naked first, getting into my slick shorts and leaving my top alone. He slipped his hand between my legs and began rubbing soft circles that drove me nearly crazy. I reached for his pants, but he swatted my hand away. "Just enjoy, don't worry about me," he said.
So I did.
He curled his fingers up inside me and stroked up, beckoning me to come hither, but I wouldn't, not just yet. The tissue under his fingertip swelled and grew, and the feeling was so intense. I felt myself get a little too close.
"Okay, okay, please stop. Now," I said, wiggling him loose and turning over on my belly, getting up on my knees and bending over.
He stripped off his pants and pitched them over the side of the bed, moving up to find my opening. One hand holding himself up, the other resting on my hip, he pushed in. It hurt so much more this way, but the pain was the same thing as pleasure, in a way.
He felt thicker like this. I knew it was an illusion, but it didn't bother me in the least. I buried my face in the bed and reached between my legs. I stopped for just a second to feel the two of us connected, and it made him hiss through his teeth. I didn't realize that would feel so good.
It didn't take long before I was spasming around him and crying out, which pushed him to the same edge. Once again, I felt myself fill with heat, but this time, I just got immensely tired. He pulsed, slowly pulling out and falling back on his haunches. I turned over and laid on my back, holding my legs together tight, lest I cause a mess on these lovely sheets. He dug around on the floor on his side of the bed and flung a hand towel at me. I crammed it between my legs and waited. He pulled his pants back on and stretched out flat, spread-eagled down on the bed. When I was confident the dripping had ceased, I discarded the towel back onto the floor and redressed myself. I laid in the crook of his arm and inhaled deep, loving the scent of soap and sweat and skin at his collarbone.
"Thank you, John," I sighed. I kissed his jaw. He held me close into his side and popped his back, settling back into the sheets. "No, thank you. Sleep for real this time?"
"Please, god."
I yawned and he caught it from me.
We drifted to sleep, curled into each other's bodies, completely at ease.
All this time later, even though I wear this collar every day, I still feel just like I did that first night.
