The Secret Life of a Submissive and Bonds of Love: 2-book BDSM Erotica Collection. Sarah K
just the start.
I went into the kitchen and made a sandwich. Max was right – it did make me feel better.
One of the things that make BDSM such a compelling game – and different from the majority of other relationships – is that wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, a sub and Dom always share a secret. Whatever appears to be happening on the surface, there is almost always something else going on beneath that surface. It is fun, it builds trust, and it is totally addictive.
After we had met a few times at my place, Max suggested that we go out together rather than just play on home ground. He arranged to come and pick me up from my house, having emailed explicit instructions about what I was to wear for our date.
He’d booked us a table at a fabulous restaurant on the north Norfolk coast. It was under new management and newly refurbished, had been in the Sunday papers and was somewhere I’d been wanting to go to since it had re-opened. I wasn’t exactly sure how Max had managed to get us a table on a Friday evening, and I certainly wasn’t complaining, but once we actually arrived I wasn’t so sure.
As we pulled into the car park Max looked across at me and smiled. ‘All ready?’
I raised my eyebrows and pulled a face. I was so nervous that I couldn’t speak.
He grinned. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘You’ll be fine. You wanted to come here, remember. And who wouldn’t? I read the reviews.’
I’d like to say that I nodded but I didn’t. I couldn’t remember a time as an adult when I’d felt so nervous or so excited, and besides I was getting to grips with the rules. No speaking unless I was given permission.
Since that first meeting at my house we had met up three or four times to continue my training. We had spoken dozens of times on the phone, and he would text me at odd times during the day. One of the things I was beginning to appreciate was that whenever we spoke Max was always the same, calm, funny, quick – and nothing I asked him seemed to faze him or wrong-foot him, whether it was about BDSM or about his personal life. It was a quality I really valued and it made trusting him and opening up to him all the easier.
Tonight he looked great. He was wearing a dark suit cut to make the most of his broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt, red tie and cufflinks. He looked gorgeous – distinguished – and smelt wonderful. He was the perfect dinner date: polite, attentive and confident without being pushy or arrogant. People always treated Max as if he was somebody.
He got out of the car first, taking a gift bag from the back seat. Then he came round to my side of the car, opened the car door for me and took my hand. It was a warm evening but I was trembling. He tucked my hand up over his arm. I was a little unsteady in new high heels, so we made slow progress across the gravel. I’d spent hours getting ready for tonight: my hair looked great and my make-up was flawless.
Inside the restaurant it was even warmer. Prime time, Friday evening and the place was jumping. The foyer was full of fresh flowers. There were people in fabulous clothes sitting up at the bar drinking cocktails and laughing. I could hear the muffled hubbub of conversation from the dining room and the sound of cutlery on china. The place was elegant, smart, full. My pulse was pounding in my ears and I had an odd sense of unreality, as if I was walking onto a film set.
Although it was warm I was wearing a classic Burberry trench coat, along with pearl earrings, my high heels and black hold-ups. Other than that – although no one would ever guess it – I was completely naked under my coat.
I glanced across at Max. If you think this was a big ask you wouldn’t be wrong, although it had seemed like fun when he’d emailed me my instructions, like a dare – and of course I had had the choice to say no.
Max smiled at me, ignoring my anxious looks as we headed past the bar towards the dining room. He patted my hand as my eyes widened. I had thought we’d at least stop and have a drink, and that at some point during my first white wine spritzer he would rescue me, maybe after a little teasing, but no: at the door to the restaurant he chatted casually to the maître d’, his grip tightening just a fraction as I started to panic.
It was barely a moment or two before a waiter came over to show us to our table. It was in the centre of the restaurant and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Max had asked for it on purpose. He gently guided me towards it, resting his hand in the small of my back. I could feel my panic rising.
The waiter pulled out my chair. ‘May I take madam’s coat?’ he asked, holding out a hand.
I glanced at Max, who smiled wolfishly and indicated with a nod of his head that I should comply.
Time slowed to a crawl. I swear I heard my pulse rate double. I couldn’t quite believe what Max was suggesting and I was waiting for him to call a halt. Surely he didn’t seriously expect me to take my coat off here? I hesitated and imagined the scene, the humiliation, the chaos, and felt my colour rising.
The waiter waited.
Very slowly I unfastened the top button of my coat, feeling a growing sense of panic. I could feel Max looking at me and looked up. His smile held. Our eyes met; his were full of mischief.
The waiter stepped closer.
My fingers moved down towards the second button. As I was about to undo it Max said, ‘Why don’t you go and freshen up your lipstick before we eat?’ And handed me the gift bag that he had brought in from the car.
I stopped and stared at him. ‘Take your time,’ he added.
Heart racing, I headed for the ladies’ toilets. In the cubicle I took a moment or two to catch my breath before undoing the bag. Inside was my dress, a clingy little sequinned number, a matching pashmina and a tiny clutch bag. I slipped the dress on over my head and shimmied it down over my hips, making an effort to compose myself, and I giggled. Then I giggled some more. All my life I had always been the good girl, the sensible, responsible one, and it felt so good to break out. No harm done – none at all – but what a rush! I couldn’t stop smiling.
I also did exactly what Max suggested and took my time before going back out. I washed my hands, tidied my hair, touched up my lipstick and make-up. I couldn’t help noticing that you could see my nipples through the thin fabric of my dress and even a pashmina couldn’t disguise the way my breasts moved without a bra.
I walked slowly back to the table, trying to suppress the grin. Max watched me every step of the way. He was smiling. In my absence he had ordered the wine.
‘You look wonderful,’ he said, as I finally settled at the table and he poured me a glass. ‘Now, how about we discuss where we go from here? Is there anything you would like to talk about?’
‘Besides brinkmanship?’ I asked, taking a long pull on my wine.
‘Tell me you didn’t enjoy it?’ he whispered, eyes bright with amusement.
‘I’m not sure “enjoy” is the right word. Have you already ordered?’
Max nodded. ‘So what would you like to talk about?’ he said.
‘Eva,’ I said, leaning in closer. ‘I want to know what happened next. In the night club, after she gave you the key, Sir.’
Max smiled. ‘OK. Well, up until I met Eva it had never occurred to me that women really enjoyed sex. Or at least not nice girls.’ He grinned. ‘What can I say? I grew up in a small village. Anyway, I’d seen some films in a friend’s garage when I was a teenager. It was the usual kind of stuff, pretty tame now compared to what you get on the internet. One of them, towards the end of the reel, was of a girl being put over her boyfriend’s knee and spanked for damaging his car.
‘The other guys I was watching it with were hooting about the car. I assumed the people who made the film must have forced her to do it or paid her and I was embarrassed that it turned me on. It never occurred to me in a million years that she might have enjoyed it too. Not until that first night with Eva at the club.’