The Secret Life of a Submissive and Bonds of Love: 2-book BDSM Erotica Collection. Sarah K

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СКАЧАТЬ peaceful after that first meeting and since I’d started to play I was sleeping the best I had for years. It was as if finding BDSM had finally joined up the random patterns of dots in my head. It felt as if I’d finally found what I was looking for.

      For a couple of weeks before our dinner date at Georgina’s Max had been away on business and I’d been away teaching on a residential course. Trying to talk on the phone had proved close to impossible – I’d had no mobile signal at all except in the lobby by the reception desk of the hotel where I’d been staying, which wasn’t exactly the ideal place to explore the continuing mysteries of BDSM – so we’d been spending a lot of time emailing, texting and IM-ing. Writing ‘Sir’ is so much easier than saying it.

      We spent hours online. Max liked to tease me with descriptions of what he planned to do to me. I played along and described my fantasies. Text and internet sex might not be as great as the real thing, and the fantasy element loomed large, but it was huge fun and not something I’d been expecting to be doing in my forties. And I was excited and at the same time relieved to have finally found a place to explore and try out my kinks. I was still trying to work out my feelings about pain, but if I’m honest I couldn’t wait to see Max again. I had never surrendered myself so totally to anyone in my life before, and choosing to trust someone so implicitly was heady stuff. Mad? Probably. Addictive? Definitely. Dangerous? Well, yes, but nothing is without risk and in this case it was a risk I was prepared to take.

      I was remarkably calm about the things Max and I had got up to. There were lots of things I didn’t know about or understand, but Max assured me that it could all be learned and he would be delighted to teach me, and I wanted him to teach me.

      Each time we talked on the phone, on Instant Messenger or by email I enjoyed the crackle of desire and flirtation. The connection between us was growing and I liked the way it felt. Between conversations about the niceties and otherwise of BDSM, we spent a lot of time talking about books, films, music and life in general. It sounds mad to say that it wasn’t what I had expected, but it wasn’t. For the first time it made me consider if I wanted a real, long-term relationship based on BDSM. Not that that was what Max was suggesting or offering, but what we had was beginning to feel like the beginning of something potentially bigger and more long-term than just a casual arrangement. I believe we both wanted more.

      But whatever it was or whatever it became, Max made it perfectly clear every time we spoke, texted or emailed that we played by the rules or not at all. I wondered if it was possible to live by the rules and still have a normal relationship. What made a BDSM relationship work, he said, was keeping and respecting the dynamic of Dom and sub, Master and slave, and not coming out of role when we were together. If we didn’t respect the rules, then it became not so much a game as a joke. When we were together our roles were rigidly defined. For him that was the way BDSM worked and hadn’t I wanted him to guide me through the mechanics of it? But could I live like that every day? It was a thought I would return to many times.

      So what do you wear to a dinner party being hosted by a six-foot-four gay transvestite and guests with assorted but unspecified kinks? I’d thumbed through my dog-eared copy of Trinny and Susannah, but they were no help at all. So I’d spent hours rifling through my wardrobe trying to work it out for myself, weighing the possibilities, trying things on. I eventually decided on the safe option: a classic little black dress that had a tight empire-line bodice and a narrow skirt – which I probably wouldn’t have worn with a bra anyway – teamed with barely black stockings and suspenders, no knickers, black high-heeled strappy sandals, chandelier earrings and coral lipstick.

      It was an outfit I had worn several times before and always felt good in, although up until that point always with my knickers firmly on. The lack of knickers made me very aware of my body – or more accurately feelings of nakedness and exposure, which I suspect was the whole point. The narrow skirt made me feel slightly more confident about going commando; the last thing I needed was a Marilyn moment on the way to the car.

      When Max arrived he came bearing flowers and he smiled as I opened the door to him. ‘You look gorgeous,’ were his opening words.

      I felt myself blushing as he stood back to admire me and my outfit. I also felt a little flutter of pleasure in the pit of my stomach. Fancying him was such a good feeling.

      Besides the flowers – big pink peonies – he was carrying a square gift box. ‘Something for you to wear,’ he said, handing me the box.

      I was rather hoping it contained knickers, something slinky in silk with a bit of a luxury lace thing going on – but it was soon apparent that it didn’t. Instead, inside was a silver circlet made up of small, articulated plates – a necklace – with a padlock as the fastener. I picked it up and turned it over in my fingers. The whole thing was far heavier than it looked and on closer inspection the lock was quite obviously not for show, although to the untrained eye it looked like a piece of modern jewellery.

      ‘I didn’t think a studded dog collar would really go with your outfit. I’d like you to wear it all the time from now on.’ He paused. ‘If you’re happy with the idea, that is.’

      I looked up at him.

      The collar was hinged at the centre point so that you could put it on, but I suspected the only way to get it off once it was locked, if you didn’t have the key, was with a set of bolt croppers or to enlist someone with a talent for house breaking.

      ‘Why don’t you try it on?’ he said.

      I hesitated.

      Max raised an eyebrow. ‘Is there a problem?’

      I turned the collar over a couple of times. In its own way it was beautiful. It was certainly beautifully made. On the back of the lock was engraved the words ‘The property of Max –’

      I’d seen collars on consensual slaves in books and BDSM sites, and I’d read about their significance. I’d been researching this world and writing about it for years, and the necklace was just a piece of jewellery, not manacles or leg irons; but what it represented was my acceptance that Max was my Dom, and if I chose to wear it I was agreeing to the notion – however preposterous – that he owned me. I reminded myself it was like the contract: it was only as binding as I believed it to be.

      It was not a formal collaring – which implies permanent ownership and commitment – but it was still a symbol of possession, a commitment on both our parts to continue our journey together. I hadn’t expected him to suggest it so soon, if at all.

      ‘Is there a problem?’ Max repeated.

      ‘No, Sir.’ I looked up at him. ‘What does it mean?’

      He smiled. ‘That you and I are beginning something – and at the moment it is very new and small and fragile, and that’s fine, but I wanted to mark it. I want you to wear it for me.’

      I nodded, handing the collar back to him. ‘It’s a big thing.’

      He nodded. ‘As big as you want to make it. And there’s no pressure. If it’s too soon I can put it back in the box – no harm, no foul. There’s no rush.’

      ‘Can I wear it tonight, Sir?’

      ‘You mean try it out?’ Max said, raising his eyebrows. ‘See how it feels?’

      I laughed. ‘Sort of, Sir.’

      ‘OK. Here, let me put it on for you.’

      The metal felt cold and heavy against my skin and I had a slight flutter as the lock СКАЧАТЬ