Silk wanted to know about Michael's experience as a slave so as they lay in bed later that night, he told her everything.
It began on my eighteenth birthday; he began as she lay on his chest. My parents had made me stay at school for the holidays and I was really depressed. Christmas is no fun by yourself, but when you throw a Christmas Eve birthday into the mix, it makes for one hell of a lonely time. So I spent the whole holiday at school with the few others that had also been left behind. Now mind you, our holidays begin the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and don't end till the first Monday after New Years, so that's a long time to spend without loved ones.
So anyway, we had some fake ID's and had been going to this bar regularly where we also met some girls from the all girls school five miles from our school. Drinking and sex were the order of the day most days. I had gotten sick and tired of what I could only call normal sex by that time and was just usually going through the motions with a girl. I would screw her, get my rocks off and pass out. Hell I don't even know if they came most of the time. I just didn't care.
So my birthday came, and we found ourselves in the bar as usually, drinking to what the bartender thought was my twenty-fourth birthday. Some girl was coming on to me, but I just could get up enough gumption to care. Then She walked in the bar.
Right off the bat there was something different about her. She exuded dominance and sexuality. All the guys tried hitting on her but she blew them off. I kept catching her watching me and finally she slid into the seat next to me at the bar. She leaned over and bit my ear, which turned me on instantly.
"I know you're not twenty-four," she whispered.
Turning and giving her a cocky grin, I said, "Sure I am wanna see my ID?"
"No," she purred in my ear, "I am pretty sure it's a fake and if the cops were to come they would knew it for sure."
I glanced at her wondering if she was a narc. Shit I thought and turned to leave, time to get the hell out of here. Before my feet hit the floor, she grabbed my arm and turned me back around to face her.
"Don't worry my pet. No one is coming," She said with a sexy smile, "Tell you what, come home with me, and I won't tell the bartender. Your little game can be our little secret."
I studied her; she seemed to be in her mid twenties. I wondered what she wanted with a young stud like me. Then a light bulb flashed, "Look, I don't pay for sex lady."
She laughed, "Don't worry pretty boy, I don't want you to pay with money," then she got serious, "Now come home with me or I'll tell the bartender your real age," when I still resisted, she added, "Come pretty boy, trust me."
Trust me, those words came to mean a great deal to me over the next year. They were spoken whenever I was hesitant and even now I find them coming from my own mouth as I teach you. So trust her I did, and I left the bar and got in her car with her. She took me to her home. As she let us in, I remarked that if she was hooker, she was doing really well.
She led me into the living room and told me to sit as she fixed us some drinks. As she brought them to the couch, handing me one, she finally asked, "So how old are you really?"
"Eighteen today," I informed her proudly.
She gave a low whistle and gave me a grave look. Then she thought better of what she was thinking and said, "Okay, I know who you are Michael St. Paul, so trust me when I say this isn't about your money," again those words.
I said okay as she slid into my lap and began kissing me. We necked on the couch for a while before she stood and led me to her bedroom. Once on the bed she took over and pressed me down on my back. Suddenly I felt cold steel snap closed on my wrist which was above my head. I jerked my wrist and began to push her off me.
She pushed me back down and said, "No Michael, trust me. I won't hurt you. It's part of the game."
Something in her eyes told me that she was on the level, that I could trust her and so finally I allowed her to cuff my other wrist to the bed. Next she tied my ankles also. As soon as I was secure, she jumped up and grabbed a few items off her dresser. I strained my neck trying to see what she was up to. Then she approached the bed and I saw a pair of scissors in her hand.
"If you make a sound I will stop and send you home, is that understood," She asked.
When I nodded she proceeded to cut my clothes from my body, with no regard to the fact that my pants cost a hundred and forty-five dollars and my silk shirt was a three hundred and twenty dollar specially made for me.
Once I was naked, she placed a blind fold over my eyes. It made me nervous, but I felt that I could trust her so I gave into the feelings. She left for a few moments and when she returned I heard her light a match and smelled a candle. She came up to the bed and I felt something caress me. It started at my neck and when down to my feet. I didn't know what it was until she brought it down in a light sting on my thigh. A riding crop, I now knew. The sting didn't hurt but the reaction to it seemed to shoot straight to my cock.