This story might have been true; it might have been imagined. I can't remember any more. I needed to write it, and there may yet be more to come.
"But to truly surrender, unconditionally and totally, to the desires of another? How could you do that? What about the trust...'
Her voice trailed off into a murmur, her eyes lifted to her friend sitting opposite at the table. She had known that Anne was sexually adventurous, but this new revelation was a surprise.
"It needn't be so difficult, Nicole. Haven't you played those little bondage games with your boyfriends, letting them tie you and blindfold you, the helpless damsel, while they have their wicked way with you? Or let them put you over their knee, and spank you for the naughty girl that you really are?"
Anne's deep, brown eyes stared intently back, meeting the her friend's gaze, almost challenging her.
"I might."
Anne laughed, "And you have always made sure that you could release yourself from your bonds, just to be sure, and asked that they only use their hand, gently?"
She blushed, deeply. Her pale complexion flushed red to the roots of her blond hair.
"It is merely playing a role, pretending to be someone that you are not. Think how refreshing it would be to have absolutely no power over what happened, how you would feel no guilt at what you were forced to do? Have you never dreamed of being an object of passion and lust?'
" But the pain..."
"The pain is not necessarily the point. It is the potential, the anticipation. Imagine being bound, hands together over your head, feet spread wide apart. Blindfolded you would not now whether to expect a caress, the touch of a whip, or even to be entered. How long could your mind and body take the torment?"
"I..."
"Think, too, of the denial, of being brought to the very edge, but not being allowed to cross into ecstasy. Your body would cry out for more, but you would be cruelly teased and denied."
Nicole began to stutter. She could not break the steely gaze that confronted her. Without breaking the eye contact, Anne drained her espresso.
"Think of the intimacy that can come from trusting another to do no harm when you are so tempting in your helplessness. "
She stood up, put the coins for the coffees on the saucer, pulled on a pair of leather gloves and left. Nicole sat and watched her leave. She was tall and slim, elegant in deep red, which contrasted with the thick black plait that hung almost to the small of her back. She had the measured step and sinuous walk of a woman who habitually wears tall heels. Her leather boots were close fitting and polished, showing the length of her legs. Nicole sighed and gathered her things to leave.
It had always been a curious relationship. Nicole would never have described herself as a lesbian, nor did she think of her friend as one. But there had always been some sort of frisson, and Anne's stories of sexual abandon had always given Nicole the frisson of envy. They had kissed once, both drunk, but not so drunk as to not know what they were doing.
Too, it was true. She had often fantasised about being bound helplessly and used, even tried it a copule of times. She had always rationalised it, thinking it was her way of controlling her fears of being out of control, but the power of the fantasy was strong. She had devoured 'The Story of O', and had never been sure whether it was the fantasy or its hold over her and the feelings that it evoked that scared her . She had felt the cold air on O's naked breasts, the tight leather of the bracelets and collar that she wore. Wincing, she had even imagined the feel of the thick plastic phallus fixed in O's behind. She had hardly dared to imagine the feel of the riding crop against her thighs.
"Excuse me, are these finished?"
She started, but recovering, smiled and nodded at the waiter. She stood to leave. She was still thinking. If there was anyone she could trust...
The next morning, a Saturday, a parcel arrived. It was heavy and about the size of a large book. It was wrapped in brown paper, but inside was a pink, silk-covered box tied with red ribbon, perfumed with a heavy scent, almost oppressive, but deeply feminine. She guessed who it was from, and went into the kitchen, placing the box on the table. Somehow, she knew that she would need to be sitting down. Lifting the lid of the box, there was a note on heavy paper, handwritten in Anne's neat, italic writing.
'Dearest Nicole,
I hope that our conversation did not shock you, nor that these gifts will offend. The perfume is my personal favourite, and I hope that you will grasp the significance of the rest.
Your loving
Anne'
Inside the box, nested in tissue paper was a bottle of perfume. It was the same heady scent as the box had been sprayed with. The scent was of roses, but there was a deep, musky undertone that made Nicole think of arousal. She had showered already, and though the perfume was an evening scent, she sprayed a little on her wrists, rubbing them on her throat. Lifting the tissue paper, there were three strips of leather, each about the thickness of a finger, but very heavy for their size. Two were short, the third was longer and thicker. Each ended in a silvery metal tongue at one end, with a matching socket at the other. In the centre of each strip was a silvery metal loop about an inch in diameter. The metal was cold. She assumed from its dull sheen that it was stainless steel. A small key was tied by a red ribbon around the longest. There was nothing else in the box, save the tissue that had packed it. They were Roissy bracelets and a collar.
She felt the weight of each, twining a shorter strap around her wrist. It would just fit, but would be very close. She picked up the longer strap and walked to the mirror in the hallway. Standing before it, she held the leather to her throat, testing the fit. Fastened, it would be snug around her neck. Feeling the tightening in her chest and the warmth between her legs., she slid the key from the strap and put it down on the table. Taking the strap away from her throat, she looked for a keyhole; there was one in the socket end. The collar was clearly meant to be locked. She tested the key. It turned. She snapped the lock home. It clicked audibly. She tested the lock, pulling on the strap, testing for movement. There was none. She turned the key. The collar released. Not quite knowing what she was doing, she scraped her hair up away from her neck and fastened the collar around throat. Looking in the mirror, she could see the change. She looked smaller, somehow softer and more vulnerable. It was heavy around her neck, but neither tight nor restrictive.
She tested the locks on the bracelets, one at a time. Both worked with the same key as the collar. She could almost hear Anne's disappointment at her lack of trust, but knew that was what the key was for. Anne had left it to reassure her.
She wasn't sure what to do next. Part of her was almost overcome with arousal, part was ashamed. Men had brought her clothes and jewellery before, but almost only when they wanted to see her in it. Anne, she was sure, had another reason. She knew how Nicole would feel in collar and bracelets, Anne's collar and bracelets. She had been bound and blindfolded before, but only with silk scarves; the weight of the leather bonds was much greater. and they were locked on her. without the key, they could not be removed. The loss of control was powerfully erotic. Then the doorbell rang.
