Читать книгу The Secret Life of a Submissive - Sarah K - Страница 7

‘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 to hear from you. I’m really pleased you called,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking about you.’

Any nervousness I had had about talking to him evaporated within seconds. Max’s voice was warm and tinged with good humour. He was easy to talk to from the first sentence, answered everything I asked him without hesitation, and made me laugh. It also soon became clear during our first phone call that he was many, many other things besides a Dom.

He liked to cook, liked the theatre, films, travel, books and music, but that natural need to be in charge and take control had informed his whole life and the choices he had made. He ran a successful business, he was confident and articulate, and while his sexual preferences weren’t something he broadcast in his everyday life they were something he was completely at ease with. He was a breath of fresh air.

Over the next couple of weeks we spoke most evenings, until it became obvious that the next step was meeting or calling it a day.

‘So,’ said Max at the end of a marathon session on the phone, ‘would you like to meet?’

‘Yes, I’d like that.’

‘But?’ he prompted. I knew he’d heard it in my voice.

We’d got on really well on the phone and chatted for hours, but I was worried that when we met we might not be what the other had imagined. I told him so.

‘There’s only one way to find out. But before we meet, we need to talk about how things progress from here. I want you to understand that, for me, BDSM is a real-life thing –’

‘I know,’ I began. ‘We’ve talked –’

‘You need to understand what you’re getting into.’ Max sounded cool and businesslike. ‘There are rules of engagement that we both need to observe when we play together. I’ve drawn up a contract.’

‘Are you serious?’ I said. I’d seen and written contracts in BDSM novels but I wasn’t sure that they existed in real-life BDSM relationships.

‘Contracts are a big part of the BDSM life. It’s for my protection as much as yours. Have you thought about how one of your friends would react if she came in and found you tied up and me horsewhipping you?’

I hadn’t.

‘The contract shows that you’ve given me consent. I know we’ve talked about the things that turn us both on, but we also need to discuss the point beyond which you are not prepared to go, and the things you find unacceptable.’

‘Surely those things are obvious?’

He laughed. ‘You would have thought so, wouldn’t you, but it’s better if they’re spelled out and down on paper.’

I said it all sounded a bit formal.

‘It is,’ Max said. ‘We’re moving this up a gear. You need to learn to be frank and honest with me – the relationship between Dom and sub is far more open and intimate than one between straight couples. And you’ll need to choose safe words.’

I’d written about safe words in my books, so I knew what they were: they’re used between BDSM partners to stop any activity that is going too far. Max wanted me to choose three: one that would tell him that everything was OK, should he ask, one for ‘slow down’ and one for ‘stop’.

For the first time since we’d started to talk on the phone I felt uneasy and nervous, and he picked that up. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I know you’re unsure about what you can cope with, but we can only find your limits by trial and error. We’ll take it really slowly. And for my part of the bargain I promise I’ll keep you safe, answer your questions as best I can and try to give you all the things you’re looking for.’

‘And all this is in writing?’

‘It is,’ he said. ‘Also when we’re playing I will expect you to give me total and complete obedience.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Really?’

‘It’s not negotiable,’ he said.

‘Bloody hell! I need to think about that.’

Max laughed. ‘OK. Well, I’m not going anywhere. You OK?’

‘I’m fine. I suppose I’m just coming to realize what a big thing this can be.’

‘It changes your life for ever,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

After I had hung up I read and re-read everything he had sent me.

Max had been married in his early twenties and had adult children, and was separated from his long-term girlfriend, Abby, with whom he had had a daughter. She was called Ellie and she was six. He and Abby had parted amicably and he was still in contact with her, and despite Abby moving halfway across the country he saw Ellie regularly. He also had a good relationship with his ex-wife and his grown-up children. He seemed ideal, but endless phone conversations and half-a-dozen emails were certainly no guarantee that he was what I was looking for, nor that he was telling the truth: anyone can be anyone on the phone.

What did I do next? I went downstairs, made a mug of tea and then picked the phone up and dialled his number. Max picked up on the second ring.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘That was quick.’

‘Can we meet?’ I said. ‘Before I bottle out.’

‘Of course,’ Max said. ‘How about lunch next week?’

Max insisted I choose the place and the time, so that I would feel safe. The rules were that I picked somewhere very public but with the potential for privacy – somewhere where, if we saw each other and didn’t like what we saw, we could smile and walk on. No games here with text messages. Max said if we didn’t click he would have no problem with either of us calling it a day and that I shouldn’t either. And lastly I should choose somewhere where we could actually get a decent lunch if we liked the look of each other, although he was quick to remind me that at this point there were no strings.

I suggested we meet outside Norwich Cathedral, which wasn’t that far from where I lived. I’d worked in Norwich for four years at the end of the 1990s and still had lots of friends there; the shopping is fabulous, and there are some great places to eat in and loads of places to wander round – all of which meant I had places to go to and people to see if the meeting with Max didn’t work out.

So it seemed a good choice. We could take a look around inside the cathedral and talk in relative privacy. There were a couple of good restaurants and some nice cafés all within easy walking distance. Being a staunch atheist, Max thought the cathedral was a great idea.

At this point I was feeling good, a bit nervous maybe, a little bit excited, but in a good way, and certainly in control. Then Max sent me another email and the balance of power began to subtly shift:

Dear Sarah

It was good to speak this evening and I’m delighted that we are finally going to meet. In future if we continue with our liaison you will call me Sir unless given permission to do otherwise. In the hearing of other people you may call me Max.

When we meet you will wear a white blouse, loose-fitting dark skirt and high-heeled shoes.

You will also wear clean white underwear and black stockings. You may choose whether to wear a suspender belt or not; if you make the wrong choice you will be punished.

You may wear a suitable coat.

You will measure the size of your neck and wrists and let me know the measurements so that I can have a collar and cuffs made for you.

You may be physically examined to see if you complied exactly with my instructions.

Oh yes, I nearly forgot: I’m really looking forward to meeting you at last. See you next week.

With kind regards

Max

As I read and I re-read his email, I was torn between thinking just who the hell does he think he is and being really excited. Finally, this was my chance to try this stuff for real, while another part of me – some people would probably say the saner, more sensible part of me – was extremely nervous. Was this really what I wanted? Physically examined? Was he mad?

There was still time to back out. Meeting him didn’t imply any kind of commitment, I reminded myself. I’d met enough men on straight dating sites and walked away without a second thought to know that it was no big thing, and in essence at least this was no different, but that wasn’t how it felt at all.

I barely slept. The next morning I re-read the email and emailed back. What I didn’t do was comment on any of Max’s conditions or agree to them. I needed to take this one step at a time.

… I’m excited about the whole idea; the combination of imagining and apprehension and excitement is a heady one. I am also very nervous about meeting up and moving this from a fantasy towards a reality, but would very much like to try. You do know that I’m just as likely to run a mile, don’t you?

His reply excited me even more:

One of the joys of being a submissive is the anticipation of things to come, the emotion produced by fear of the unknown. I will always try and describe what will happen to you before doing it. This way you will experience double the pleasure, first in your imagination and then in reality. See you soon.

Max

So this was it. Finally. I switched off my computer and went back downstairs. It felt as though I was teetering on the brink of something huge.