The Secret Life of a Submissive. Sarah K

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СКАЧАТЬ a few of my favourites along with me in the back of the car,’ he continued enthusiastically. ‘Maybe you’d like to take a little look after we’ve eaten?’

      I turned my attention back to my salad, decided not to bother with the wine, and instead counted down the minutes till my mobile pinged to announce an incoming text message. I’d arranged for Joan to text me. If it was going well I’d text back a pre-agreed reply. Anything else, including silence – particularly silence, and she would call out the cavalry. If I felt the need to escape, it was an easy get-out-of-jail-free card.

      I’d read the incoming text, look concerned, and say something along the lines of ‘Oh no! Look, I’m so sorry, but I’ve really got to go. I’ll ring you this evening/some time later/the very second Hell freezes over.’ And I could be up and away without either of us losing face.

      Right on cue the phone pinged. I whipped it out of my handbag and rearranged my face into an expression of deep regret.

      ‘Don’t tell me, you have to go,’ said the man with a sigh before I had a chance to say anything. ‘What is it? What is it that I’m doing wrong?’

      Where to begin? Showing me pictures of handcuffs you’ve known and loved while we waited to be shown to a table? Being a foot shorter and twenty years older than you said on your profile? Asking the waitress for the cheapest thing on the menu and then adding, ‘You didn’t want a starter, did you?’ Turning up in a particularly nasty beige Bri-Nylon car coat?

      If I hadn’t been so damned polite, I would have pretended I had no idea who you were and just carried on walking.

      I smiled and rested my hand very lightly on his. ‘A lot of this is about chemistry, isn’t it? And let’s be honest, there isn’t any, and I think you know straight away, don’t you?’ I said, in a voice that implied he was the kind of person who was sensitive to that kind of thing. ‘You’re a lovely man, but not my sort of man. I’m sure you’ll find someone who really appreciates you for who you are.’

      He sighed again. ‘You’re right, and besides, if I’m perfectly honest, love, when I first saw you walk in I thought you were a bit long in the tooth for me; and with a bit too much meat on you, if you get my drift. I like my women quite a bit younger really. And slimmer.’

      And probably sold with a foot pump, I thought with a fixed smile, as I got up, waved au revoir to Manacle Man, left my half of the bill on the table and headed home, mentally crossing another possibility off my would-be-Dom list.

      I was beginning to feel that I was looking for something that didn’t exist. But then, just when I was thinking of giving up, I got an email from Max.

Chapter Three

      ‘The imagination is the spur of delights … all depends upon it, it is the mainspring of everything.’

       Marquis de Sade

      Max had been one of the Doms on my original list of twelve from the very first batch of contacts. In fact, I had contacted him directly after reading his profile and posting mine, but he had been out of the country on business on a four-month contract and, after expressing his regret, said that much as he’d like to help, long-distance Domming really wasn’t his bag. He promised to be in touch as soon as he arrived home, assuming that I hadn’t found someone in the meantime, and he was very happy to talk and answer any questions I had, whether I had found someone or not. He wished me luck.

      Max was a few years older than me, around six feet tall, with dark hair shot through with grey. On his profile he came across as witty, confident and warm. It was well written, readable, and in that happy land between a one-liner and being way too long. He also sounded sane, reasonable and, broadly speaking, as if he was looking for the same kind of things as I was. To be honest, he had slipped my mind, so I was really pleased when, after Manacle Man, his email arrived.

      Dear Sarah

      Thank you for your email. Apologies for the delay in getting back to you, but I didn’t arrive back in the UK until late last week.

      First of all let me say I’m honoured that you contacted me.

      In answer to the first part of your email, yes of course it is possible to talk. May I suggest that you use the private email address [provided] or if you prefer you can ring me on my mobile [which he included]. This is a mobile number for obvious security reasons, but should we decide to extend our contact then I’d be more than happy to give you my landline number.

      As I am sure you realize, there are a vast range of possibilities existing in the Dom/sub world and it’s important that you try and find someone with wants and needs that are similar to your own. It’s better to wait for the right fit than be unhappy or uncomfortable with your choices.

      You have obviously gathered that I am a Dom.

      My view on the Dom/sub relationship is hard to sum up in a few paragraphs, but basically I don’t believe that subs should be subjected to continual physical pain or abuse. I’d be lying if I said these don’t have a part, but there is much more to be gained in other areas, particularly in the mind.The fact that you write erotic fiction suggests that you already understand the power of the imagination – and I suspect that the anticipation of future events could be important to you. I would obviously be interested in reading some of your work.

      There are many ways that fantasy can become reality, but as you have suggested, finding a sane and safe way to express and explore it is often hard. Many people would expect to move forward quickly; however, I suggest that we move at your pace. I do have some fundamental rules of engagement – but let’s talk first and then we can discuss what, if anything, comes next.

      Kind regards

      Max

      He sounded nice, interesting, articulate. Just reading the email gave me a funny little buzz of anticipation, although I had to remind myself that this wasn’t a fantasy, and nor was Max a character in one of my books; this was potentially the real thing, with a real man. I emailed Max back with a list of questions. He replied, taking everything point by point, and then suggested that it might be much easier if we talked on the phone.

      Easier yes. Easier actually to dial the number? No.

      I sat at my desk and stared at his number for a while, wondering whether I dared ring or not. The thing was he sounded so right that I’d be a fool not to ring; but if he wasn’t, given how many people I’d met and how disappointed I’d been, how was I going to feel? What if he spoke with a high-pitched nasal twang? What if he was like Manacle Man? What if he was not at all as I imagined him? In lots of ways Max felt like the last roll of the dice before I crept back to normal land with my tail between my legs.

      I dialled his number but couldn’t quite bring myself to press ‘call’. Lots of what ifs flitted through my mind, but the bottom line was I’d never know what he was like until we spoke. Finally I pressed the button.

      The phone rang at the other end – once, twice, three times, four. How long before hanging on for the pick-up came across as desperate? Maybe he wasn’t in; maybe I’d dialled the wrong number.

      ‘Hello,’ said a deep, cultured male voice.

      ‘Hello, Max?’ I said. ‘It’s Sarah.’

      ‘Sarah, great СКАЧАТЬ