Her First Time

"I didn't think you would come. I didn't think that you actually being here was a real possibility." I place a hand on his calf: solid, warm, real.

"I have my ways."

"I thought you said you had to work."

"What do you think is more important to me: you or work?"

"Me, I guess."

"That's right, baby doll, you are."

He slides closer, bridging the Queen-sized gap until we're almost nose-to-nose. His eyes find mine and peer into them, searching, reading.

"Are you okay?"

"I...Yes, I'm fine."

"You don't have to lie to me. You know that, don't you?"

My top teeth find lower lip and bite down absently.

"In fact, trust is a crucial factor in determining the future of our relationship. If we don't trust each other, then we won't ever be able to be open and honest with each other. And if we can't be open and honest then we have no future together. So please, tell me what's wrong, Cassidy."

"I...I just don't know if I can go through with it," I force the words out quickly, breathlessly. "It's such a big step, and..."

He touches a finger to my lips and I stop. The touch becomes a caress, the caress a kiss, and before I know it I'm in his arms.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Just tell me when to stop and I'll stop." His words are a warm whisper in my ear. "And I won't push you—not now or ever—but I do think you're ready. I think you've been ready for a long time and you just didn't know it."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

This time it's my turn to kiss him, leaning in and pressing my lips against his, hard. Our cheeks touch and the electric brush of his stubble sparks a fantasy so vivid and detailed that for a second I'm sure it's actually happening. It's him, planting kisses along the underside of my jaw, following the curve of my neck to my shoulders, around my collarbone and down my breasts, hitting all the right notes on his way down, down, down, the stubble a tickling accompaniment the whole way.

I shiver in delight.

"Let's do it," I whisper, breaking away. "Right here, right now."

He grins and it transforms his face. Gone are the boyish good lucks—the illusion, the fantasy—replaced with something more primal, natural. Suddenly I'm reminded of the fairy tale wolf who dressed up as a grandmother to get Little Red in bed, and little warning bells go off inside my head.

I ignore them.

"Follow me." He says, rising from the bed. "Don't say a word."

We leave the bed. There're two impressions where we both sat, the comforter and sheets disturbed. It looks, for all intents and purposes, as if we've just made love. Somehow that thought comforts me as we step further away from the familiar and deeper into the mysterious world of the unknown.

He stands before my closet door, one hand on the brass doorknob.

"As I was saying before, Cassidy, our relationship is all about trust. I must know everything about you, and you must know everything about me. Secrets cannot exist between us. Secrets will destroy us. And that's why I'm here, in your room, ready to open your closet."

His hand turns the knob, starts to pull the door open, then stops abruptly.

"Are there any skeletons you wish to tell me about before we go any further?"

"No sir," the honorific slipping out unnoticed by either of us. "I have no secrets."

"Good."

Inside my closet is a mess. Dresses, jeans and skirts hang alongside sweaters and blouses on a white rod that runs across the top. On the floor, one corner is occupied by an overflowing dirty laundry hamper, and the other is a pile of shoes, boots, and sandals. Scattered around like landmines are various stray articles: a bra here, a pair of panties there, stockings, socks, even proper tops and bottoms. My face flushes with embarrassment as he bends down and retrieves a pair of worn panties.

"Well, I must say, Cassidy, for a girl who takes care of herself as well as you do, this is absolutely unexpected."

I want to say something to defend myself—and get as far hitching a breath and opening my mouth—but don't. He hadn't asked my opinion—he'd merely stated a fact.

"Come here." He holds out the soiled panties. "Take these."

I hesitate. He arches an eyebrow.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Those are...I wore those panties. They're dirty." I say quietly, trying not to think about how I'd worn those through a spin class at the gym.

"So? Are you ashamed of your body?" He raises them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. "Are you afraid of your femininity, Cass?"

"N...No, I'm not ashamed."

"Good. Take them," he holds out the offending article, "Go on."

I take them, shuddering when my hand finds the spot warmed by his breath. They're plain-Jane grey cotton bikinis, well worn and well used, the elastic in the waist popping in places. In other words, not the kind of panties you want a prospective lover to see when they're clean, let alone dirty and smelly.

"Eventually, I'd expect you to put them in your mouth—without hesitation."

I inadvertently shiver, looking away.

"But that, like so much else, is for a later date. Tell me, Cassidy, where do you keep your clean underwear?"

"I...I...in the dresser across from my bed," I say shakily, "top drawer."

He goes to the dresser, opens the drawer. "Tell me the pair you think would please me the most," he says, not looking up, "Fast!"

"Umm...umm...slutty or classy," I ask, unsure.

"Cassidy-y. Tell me which ones project the most about you."

"The boyshorts with the lace waist, black with blue hearts."

"And why do these scream 'you,' Cassidy?"

"Because they're fun," I say, "Because they're cute and comfortable, confident and sexy."

"Great reasons, I agree." He brings them over to where I stand, with my back still to the open closet. "You can drop those," he says, indicating the soiled panties, "you don't need them anymore. They've served their purpose."

Gratefully, I let them fall to the floor.

"Take these. Put them in your mouth."

The panties are cool and clean with the scent of my mother's brand of detergent clinging to them like an afterthought. Holding them in my hand brings back memories of the day I bought them, and I am amazed by the realization that there's no way in hell I ever could've guessed where they'd end up at that time.

Smiling, I bunch them into a ball and force them into my mouth, feeling it instantly dry, the moisture swallowed by the absorbent fabric. More, more, more I push, but I'm unable to fit them all in. Finally satisfied with my own efforts, I look up at him, seeking his approval.

"Not bad for your first try. Good job, Cass."

My heart lights up with pride.

"Do you have any electrical tape in the house?" Then, "Never mind, I know you can't speak. I brought some of my own anyways." He removes a small plastic package with what looks like four rolls of black tape inside of it. "This is what it looks like—next time I come over make sure you have some ready. Okay?"

I nod.

"Good. Now, listen to me very carefully, Cassidy. I'm going to tie you up now. It won't be very tight, but that's the point. Call this your crash course in bondage. The tape will secure you, but still leave it possible for you to free yourself when I'm gone. Ready?"

"Mmm."

"Good. Hold your hair out of the way."

There is a whirring sound as the thin tape unwinds. Then I feel it, the gentle pressure of it forcing the panties deeper into my mouth. He wraps the tape once, twice, three times over my mouth, and despite my best efforts, I feel a few stray strands of hair pull painfully. My eyes water, but I don't say anything.

"This is the first of many symbolic acts of surrender," He says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Good. Hold out your arms, wrists together."

He wraps the tape around them three times, binding them together. The blackness of it looks strange against my skin.

"This is the second act. While your hands are bound, they are not bound so that it is impossible for you to remove on your own. And this is for two reasons: one: it proves to me that you're willing to submit to me; and two: it will prove whether or not you are disciplined."

There is a brief pause, a moment of absolute stillness, and he says: "Are you ready for the third and final lesson of the evening, little Cass?"

I nod.

"Good. I knew you were."

And he reaches out with his slender, strangely feminine hands, and lifts the fabric of my shirt up and over the swell of my breasts, exposing the plain cotton bra underneath. With his hands gently gripping my arms, he guides me back into the closet and sits me down on the pile of dirty laundry. His fingers curl around the hem of my skirt and lift it up, revealing pink cotton panties, a small wet stain spreading from the centre of my sex.

"Your final lesson/test/gesture is this: I'm going to leave now, and I want you to stay here, exactly as you are, for five minutes after I'm gone. No more, no less. Understood?"

I nod.

"And you're not to leave for any reason before the time is up. If you have to pee, hold it. If someone calls your name, ignore them. Got it?"

Again, I nod.

"Good. When you're all finished, I want you to write out your take on our first encounter. Write out everything, Cassidy, your thoughts, feelings, likes and dislikes, everything. Then I want you to send them to me. For the last time tonight: Do you understand?"

Up and down goes my head in the final nod of the night.

I understand.