Never had I experienced such a week. I awoke Friday morning feeling, like Alice, that I'd fallen through the rabbit hole into a very different world. As I stretched, I realized my wrist was still lightly restrained by the rope at the head of my bed, just as Jake had left me, a reminder of his possession. He'd shown me that I could easily slip my hand through the loop, but I hadn't. I tugged at it, enjoying the feel of it while I thought about Jake. I wanted him, with an immediacy that scared me. But I wouldn't see him until tonight.
Quickly I got up and showered. I had work to do today. I'd let things slide this week due to my preoccupation with a certain hardware store owner, rope enthusiast and dom who'd unexpectedly entered my life. I'd somehow agreed to be his, but I was still not completely sure what the boundaries of that possession were. He'd said that he wanted to be my guide and teacher for my first forays into the BDSM world, and I'd eagerly taken him up on it.
Guide and teacher only? Did that mean I should stomp on these feelings I had for him? Because....
I ripped my towel off its hook with such force that I pulled the hook out of the wall. Yes, because. Because I could sense those feelings wanting to take root. And I knew I shouldn't let them.
I poured myself a bowl of stale Cheerios and added milk while my ludicrously expensive espresso machine delivered its payload. The machine took up nearly a third of my scant counter space, but...priorities. It was still early, so I had time to relax for a few minutes. I'd glanced at my phone when I woke up, but there'd been no messages from Jake. However, when I sat down with my breakfast, my heart leaped to see a new text appear.
Be waiting for me at 9:00 pm. Wear only the clothing I chose, but you may bring something to wear over them. I'm taking you out for dinner first because I know you won't eat otherwise. After, we'll go to the club and then to my place for the weekend. Don't be nervous. Trust me to guide you.
Trust him to guide me? The guy's self-confidence was incredible. And yet I did trust him. The question was: how far? I'd never been to the kind of place he was taking me tonight, and I wasn't sure what he would ask of me. While the idea made me nervous, I'd always wanted the chance to visit that kind of club, to see what I'd fantasized about in real life. Maybe too real. I had a feeling that Jake intended for me to be more than just an observer this evening.
I shivered slightly, drained my cup in a single swallow, and turned on my computer, determined to focus. Three hours later I surfaced from a nasty strategy meeting and the necessary follow-up emails. I'd successfully diverted my thoughts from my personal life, but now realized I'd received another text from Jake:
When you can take a break, strip and lay on your bed. Put on the restraints as we practiced and then imagine I'm there with you. My hands on your body -- stroking, pinching, gliding, pushing inside you, arousing you. Focus on how that makes you feel, but don't let your imagination lead you too far. You are not allowed to come.
In a second text he'd added:
Text me when you start. I want to imagine you, naked and restrained, following my commands. And again when you've finished, so I know you're safe.
His words awakened the same helpless arousal and desire to obey that I'd felt at each of our meetings. I put an Away message on my computer -- it was lunchtime, after all -- and went to my bedroom. Undressing quickly, I laid the ropes out carefully in place. I slipped the two that were fixed to the footboard around my ankles, stroking the smooth cotton as I did so. Then I lay back and slipped the rope around my left wrist, leaving my right one free to text Jake, letting him know I was following his orders.
That done, I slipped my right wrist through the remaining loop and closed my eyes. I pulled at the ropes, each tug making me sink into those lovely feelings of need and submission. It was easy to imagine Jake's -- Sir's -- hands at my wrists restraining me, instead of the ropes. Then at my breasts, roughly twisting and pulling at my nipples. I sighed and moaned, restlessly twisting as those calloused hands traveled down my body -- stroking my sides, circling my waist -- until they were between my spread legs.
My thighs and hips strained upward as I let out an unsatisfied cry. My imagination was good, but I wanted his fingers in me, pushing me toward my release. I ached with unfulfilled need, alternately cursing my tormentor and begging for more.
When I was covered with a fine sheen of sweat and couldn't take any more, I stopped struggling. It was more difficult than I'd expected to calm myself down. I wanted Jake. If he were with me, he'd soothe me. I imagined resting in his arms, matching my breathing to his.
The thought of Jake reminded me to get up and remove the restraints, then text him. I was surprised to see that more than half an hour had passed. As I dressed, Jake texted back.
Good girl. I left one of those chicken salad sandwiches you like at your door for your lunch. While waiting in line at the deli, I thought of you in your ropes. Bad idea. Luckily, I had my work apron on. See you at 9:00.
I couldn't suppress a smile at his words and his unexpected thoughtfulness. I pictured him standing outside my place with a small brown paper bag, maybe placing a hand on the door and pausing to see if he could hear my moans, my begging. I imagined that, if he'd had a key, he would have come in and watched me silently.
My imagination was too damn active by far.
The afternoon crawled. Many of my colleagues took off early on Fridays. I completed the bare minimum, then did the same. I took a catnap, then showered and spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready for my evening, especially considering Jake had already selected my apparel. I snorted. Not exactly what I'd thought I'd wear to a club like Edge. Shortly after I'd moved to the city, I'd read about how the place had been repurposed from a small venue for rock and roll acts to a well-regarded private club for the BDSM/fetish crowd.
In my mind, I'd pictured wearing something cute and sexy: a schoolgirl in a cute plaid skirt maybe, or a skintight leather dress. In reality, Jake wanted me to wear something much more low-key: leggings and a sports bra. When I'd looked at him in disbelief, he chuckled and said, "I'm going to be dressing you with my ropes, pet. It's either that, or you'll strip down to nothing. I don't allow subs to wear clothes that will get in my way."
Given that choice I'd quickly nodded; yep, clothes were fine by me. Luckily, I had some wet-look black leggings and a matching bra with oversized chrome zipper that I wore for yoga. It was a step above basic. I laid out some black demi-boots, a slip-on black knit skirt, and a sheer black mesh tee I could throw on for dinner. Then I spent much too much time on my makeup and hair until I realized I only had a few minutes before Jake's arrival to toss some things into a tote for the weekend and then prepare myself to greet him.
He knocked promptly at 9:00. I stepped to the door and unlatched it, loud enough for him to hear, then went to kneel on the cushion I'd placed on the floor, facing the door, per his instructions. I felt a bit light-headed as I waited for him to push the door open and enter.
He gave me time to settle, then stepped inside. My eyes were down, hands resting on my thighs, legs spread, back arched. I took a nervous breath, then his hand touched my head gently, lifting my chin to look up at him. He smiled, "You look lovely. Well done."
I smiled back, felt my face glow at his words. "Thank you, Sir," I said, rising when he put out a hand to help me up.
He picked up the small bag he carried and jerked his chin toward the living area. "I need to finish dressing you," he said cryptically. I started to reach for the items I'd laid on the table, but he shook his head. "Come with me."
I followed him into the room. He dropped the bag on the leather sofa. Inside I could see several lengths of bright red rope, thinner and softer than the cotton rope from the hardware store. He took my hand and ran a length of it over my palm. "Bamboo," he said, reverently. "Soft and silky against the skin, isn't it? I'm going to use it to put you in a kind of rope dress. A hishi karada. I think you'll enjoy wearing it tonight."
His hands flexed as if he couldn't wait to begin, but then he frowned at my bra. "Did you have something to wear over this?" he asked. I went to my pile and picked up the black tee. It was almost but not quite see-through. He nodded decisively, unzipping the bra and pulling it off. "This will be much better."
I gulped but didn't protest. Instead, I watched him work, fascinated. There was something sensual about the way his fingers formed each knot then trailed the silky rope through it, fitting it to my body. After placing a loose loop over my head, he began making knots down the front of me, at intervals, then wrapped the ends through my legs and up my spine to join with the loop at the back of my neck. I got lost in the feel of him weaving and twisting the rope around my torso in a way that created a diamond pattern down my front. His incidental touches only added to erotic feeling of being wrapped in the rope.
My breasts were fitted between two of the diamonds. As Jake worked, the ropes pulled tighter, compressing them slightly so that they felt full, swollen almost. He created a similar effect at my crotch; parting the two strands of rope with a loop so that they framed my labia and pressed down with a delicious persistence. He paused for a moment to stroke between the strands until I let out a small whimper. As his finger pressed my clit he murmured, "This is where I'd put a knot to drive you crazy. Another time. For tonight, I want it to be my fingers teasing you."
Before I knew it, he was finished. He stepped back slightly, then ran his hands over my body testing the tautness here, smoothing a knot there. He led me to the full-length mirror in the hallway so I could see the result. I looked and felt like I'd been caught in a beautiful, fluid, red net, both held and restrained. He grinned at my dazed expression. "No need to ask whether you like it," he said, sounding pleased.
My breasts were pink, nipples tight. His fingers teased over them, pinching lightly, and the sensation was exquisite. It went straight to my clit. Before I could stop myself, I whispered, "Please...Sir...."
His mouth curved appreciatively, taking in the sight of me. He pinched harder, then slapped each breast, watching them wobble slightly. The warmth I'd felt before turned to heat under his merciless eyes. I whimpered, wanting more, but he merely said, "That's perfect. Just the right amount of need."
