The leather felt cool and soft on my skin as the straps were tightened to a sung fit around my wrists. Nothing was spoken; the rules of engagement had been specified earlier in the day, my safe word agreed upon. What was and was not allowed already determined. Her name was Sara, her last name unknown and unimportant. She came recommended by a friend, a very trusted friend who had an idea of what I might like.
My uniform lay strewn on the floor after having been practically torn from my body. Sara wore red and black, a red sheer fabric top and black leather pants. The pants were so tight I'm sure it took several hops for her thin thighs and waist to sink into them. Her hair was short and blonde the first time she topped me. I'm certain it has changed colors with each successive visit, though it is those memories that are foggy, not this one. My first time is etched into my soul like the feelings I had the first time I made love to a woman, or the first time I met my long-term partner. It's not something you forget easily, the details are like a tattoo or a scar, it's permanent, it's a part of me.
My friend gave me her name and number after we wondered into a fetish store one night and I was unable to stop touching the leather wrist and ankle restraints. She could see my intrigue was more than innocent curiosity. That was three weeks before my first time. I had always been interested in the idea of tying a partner up but had never experimented with the reality, and the notion of being bound myself had never crossed my mind.
My position as the commander of my unit had required me to maintain a strict amount of discipline among my soldiers as well as myself, which resulted in the need and desire to manage my self-control not only while in uniform but also in bed with my lovers. I often was the top in bed, but I wasn't against being the bottom. Being a top doesn't mean I never got fucked, it just means I got fucked when and how I wanted it. It took a strong bottom for me to enjoy getting fucked, and in my experience those are few and far between.
I didn't know what to expect when I met Sara the first time. It's kind of like going on a blind date and not knowing if the person you're meeting is going to scare the hell out of you, make you laugh, or make you wish you hadn't left your cell phone in the car. Sara was and still is very attractive, a fit woman who takes care of her body. Her smile was soft but there was something hidden behind her blue eyes as we discussed the logistics over coffee at a café a few blocks from her house.
As soon as we entered her living room the domination began, "go to the back room and take off your clothes. Wait for me there." She said pointing to the hallway that lead to the rear of the house.
"Why?" I asked.
"Don't ask questions. That's not what you're here for. Do not speak unless I ask you a question or tell you to," she responded in a very firm tone.
I did as I was told. I walked down the long narrow hallway that ended at the nearly pitch black room. I sat down on a black wooded bench and began to untie my high-gloss shoes removing them slowly and setting them side-by-side, placing my black socks neatly inside of them.
The beat of my heart quickened as I heard Sara's footsteps coming towards me from down the hall. I had begun unbuttoning my uniform jacket when she entered the room. "You're not undressed," she said looking at me from the doorway.
"Not yet."
"Don't speak," she cut me off, "or I'll make it so that you can't."
She stormed over to me, grabbed me by the sides of my arms and stood me up. My first instinct was to throw her to the ground in self defense, but this urge was over come by her pulling my jacket off my shoulders locking my arms behind my back and ripping open my freshly pressed shirt revealing a lose fitting black sports bra covering my breasts. "Do I need to tear your pants off too?" I shook my head no, "Then hurry up and get them off, I don't care if you want to fold them or not, just throw them on the floor, or you wont be able to wear them home."
Her sternness truly excited me. I wasn't accustomed to being ordered around in the bedroom, nor would I have normally tolerated such behavior. However I did as I was told and quickly removed my trousers and threw them to the ground. I stood there in my bra and underwear, waiting for her next command.
"You've got to be kidding me? I know you're not that shy, those can't stay on either." She said pointing at my bra. Sara was standing at the other side of the dark room unrolling a black cloth case filled with who only knows. I drew a deep breath and lifted my bra over my head fully exposing my nipples to the slight coolness of the room; they became erect as I bent over and lifted my feet out of the leg holes in my boxer briefs.
"Come here," she commanded. I walked quickly over to her; my speed was reminiscent of the time I had spent in Officer Candidate School. "Sit down," she pointed at another all black-wooded bench situated in front of me. The bench was about four feet wide and about seven feet long. It truly resembled an implement of torture used during the Middle Ages to elicit confessions from enemies of the state. Its presences scared the hell out of me, but with time I learned to enjoy the time I spent on it, on my back.
I sat down straddling the bench. She touched my shoulder, "lay down. Don't be scared, I'm not going to hurt you, unless you want me to," she said grinning as I began to lean back on the unforgiving boards. The lack of padding caused my shoulder blades to ache with discomfort and accentuated the curve of my back.
"You remember what we talked about?" she asked as she moved my arms and hands above my head. I nodded as confirmation that I remembered that my safe word was blue and that I was to use it if at any point I became very uncomfortable or in the event that I felt serious pain.
A million thoughts and pictures began running through my mind as Sara moved from my wrists to my ankles latching them to the bench the same way she had restrained my arms. She had become silent, her breathing the only noise my ears could detect. The room remained dark due to the thick heavy curtains blocking the rays of the setting sun from entering fully but allowing me to see just enough to know what was going on. The darkness helped with my mood, with the mystique of the encounter.
She began running the tips of her fingers through my short hair, the tingling this elicited ran through my body and calmed my nerves. "So you like being in charge," she asked. I nodded my response afraid of speaking, "This will be good for you then."
I closed my eyes as I thought about the person I had been casually seeing for the past few months. I wondered if she would be opposed to this random encounter, if by lying here I would be disrespecting her or if I had broken any boundaries. I had refused to call her my girl friend she was simply someone I was seeing nothing too serious, but still I wondered if it might bother her to know that this was happening.
I snapped out of these thoughts as I felt a cool metallic item touch my stomach. I had no idea what it was; I was unable to lift my head high enough to see that far down my body. I could only use my senses to determine what the object was. The instrument was used to scratch what would certainly be visible marks onto my body. I had never been touched in such a way and I moaned with pleasure as the item was brought close enough for my eyes to see the sharpness of the edge of the blade.