Contradictions make for some wonderful sexual tension. Looking over at Cassie as I waited for the lights to change it was hard to see the turmoil, but I knew the tells and she was definitely in a spin. For someone who liked to be in control (but not 'in charge' as such), this was a level of mental torture similar to going to the doctor for an unexpected referral. Actually, when I came to think of it, this was very similar, and with that thought I stifled a grin.
"Honey..." she began, but I jumped on that shit right away.
"For the tenth time," I said with good-natured exasperation, "I have no idea what they're going to do. They haven't sent me a script, and I doubt they even have one."
Cassie slumped in the passenger seat with a cute little pout. I could see she knew I was right, but that didn't mean she liked it. It was one of the little pleasures of setting up an adventure for someone who needed to know what was going to happen: today, she was going to have to let go. Not that it would be easy, but then she did also say she liked things to be spontaneous. Hmmm... we almost split up early on -- it was impossible to take her to the cinema without a barrage of questions about how the film would end, and that was before we had even sat down. And that's just one example of things that exasperated me about her until I learned to accept her for who she was.
The lights changed and I drove over the bridge to the east side of the city with the rest of the lunchtime traffic. There was a cheesy metaphor somewhere between me driving Cassie to where we were going, over a broad silver river carrying torrents of meltwater from the distant mountains out to the Baltic, hundreds of miles away. I decided, wisely I think, not to mention that to my literature PhD candidate girlfriend, instead giving her a smile as she gazed out at the river, the tip of her thumb between her lips and betraying her anticipation.
She didn't know where we were going, though she certainly knew why, and that ignorance added something else to her tension. I knew, however, and I decided now was the time to tell her.
"We'll be there in five minutes or so," I said, "we can still turn back. Nobody will hold it against you, and I can take the guys out for a night on the town instead."
She shook her head, and I think the excitement had got her tongue -- a cat on a hot tin roof.
"Ok, well, just a final reminder," I went on, "they know your red lines, and they know your safe word. I trust these guys, and I'll be there anyway, too. Horny?"
She nodded, and then she let out a breath in a long stream and I knew that she was composing herself.
"I wouldn't do it without you there," she said, giving me a cute smile, "thanks for arranging this. Probably."
"Hey, you can stop any time you want."
"I know," she said, "let's hope I don't want to."
I turned the car off the main road and into the smart riverside district where the townhouse was. It was a rental place, very expensive, and equipped specifically for those in the know. The owner occasionally put on open events, rather in the manner of fetish clubs, but mostly it was for private hire. I had hoped to take Cassie to one of the club nights the year before, to make a change from the swinger clubs we went to, but I came down with the flu, and then Cassie caught it from me. Hardly conducive to a night of wild fun...
The satnav sent me down increasingly quieter streets until we reached a side street that even the locals probably forgot about. It was short, with only about ten widely-spaced houses on each side before the street ended in a T-junction. But those houses... I could only dream of owning something like them. They were all tall -- four storeys -- and had large walled gardens. Everything was whitewashed and scrupulously clean.
I pulled up in the street and sat for a moment, silent with Cassie.
"Are you getting out?" I said, and it really did need to be her choice.
"Yes," she said, after a pause, and then more definite, "yes."
She got out of the car without waiting for me to get her door for her, and stood in the street as I grabbed our small suitcase of toys from the boot. She looked great, and certainly fitted in with the area: despite me saying that she needn't dress up, she had chosen a dark skirt suit she wore to conferences, and a pair of two-tone heels. The heels pushed her up towards my height, and I'm six-foot dead, and with her shoulder length blonde hair and slender figure she really did look like a model -- not a catwalk, supermodel, mind, but one who would easily get the lower end jobs. Smart and pretty... yes, nobody needed to tell me I'd got lucky.
I led her over to number four, to the small gate next to the heavy driveway gates. There was an entry phone, and I pressed the button and I could feel her agitation as she virtually bounced on the spot in silence. Then we were buzzed in and I pushed open the gate, ushering Cassie through and following her up the short flight of stairs to the quite imposing black front door.
Inside we were immediately faced with the owner in the small foyer. I had only contacted her via email previously, but I knew something of her by reputation. She was from somewhere on the eastern edge of Europe, a stereotypically stern, tall, beautiful Slavic woman in her thirties with precious little in the way of human warmth. Or at least, so it seemed when she was speaking to me, outlining the rules of the place regarding smoking and damages and the like, and the drinks we could take in the bar. But when she glanced over at Cassie, I saw the slightest flare of her nostril. Aha, thought I, that explains a lot.
I handed over the remaining, rather large pile of cash required to hire the place on top of the deposit I had already transferred to her and she checked it meticulously. And then she was gone after reminding me that we had the house until six.
We walked through the door connecting the foyer to the rest of the building, and there waiting in a bar area were my friends sitting on a smart grey leather sofa with a coffee table in front of them. I had arranged for two guys to come and dominate Cassie, Alex, a friend from my old life back in London and Matt (which he preferred to Matteo), a more recent acquaintance from the months I'd spent working in Vienna the year before.
Alex was quite a slim guy, and not too tall either, with close cropped dark hair. But whilst he wasn't God's gift, exactly, he reeked of relaxed competence, as if every smooth movement had been meticulously considered and perfectly executed. He was on the verge of forty now, and I knew that would be another plus as far as Cassie was concerned as she liked older guys. But as always, the real winner was Matt, about five years younger than Alex.
He was the son of a Nigerian father and an Austrian mother, and being a light-skinned black guy with blue eyes he had women everywhere falling at his feet. It irritated him sometimes, and I could understand why, but I loved taking advantage anywhere there was a woman in charge of customer service. It didn't hurt, either, that he was buff and had short dreadlocks, and a winning grin -- I mean, dude, if you want to be loved for your mind, at least buy some non-prescription glasses!
Alex and Matt had, I noticed, also dressed a little smartly for the occasion, both of them in dress shirts and trousers, not jeans. It was serendipitous, an accidental show of respect for the effort Cassie had made, just as her outfit complemented the location. Even I, I suppose, had subconsciously made an effort, wearing something similar to the guys.
They stood up and we had a bit of a group hug and a friendly shaking of hands and the like. By sheer luck Alex and Matt knew each other vaguely from the lifestyle, and we shot the shit for a minute or two, all the while with Cassie standing ignored, off to one side. Normally, I wouldn't have countenanced anyone excluding her, but right now... well, she had to know her place.
"You weren't lying when you said this place was fully equipped," said Alex, and I could see that he was getting some ideas -- he owned a BDSM suite in London which he rented out to people on the scene.
"Yeah, we've been having a bit of a back and forth," said Matt, "I want the top floor and he wants the basement."
"I've only seen it on the website, actually," I said, "what was the basement, again? It's the fake prison, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's beautifully done" said Alex, "and the top floor is the classic set up. We're going to flip a coin."
"Anyway," said Matt, "we're pretty much set, so..."
"Hang on," I said, and I went back to the foyer and collected the small suitcase I'd brought.
"Not you, too?" laughed Alex, and he retrieved his own case from behind the sofa where they'd been sitting, and a second later Matt got his from the same place.
