I officially met H through Craigslist. After about year of slogging through dick pics and numerous requests to impregnate me, his ad was refreshingly coherent. His tone was businesslike and almost terse, a trend which continued until our first play session, where he revealed himself to be as equally firm as he was tender. H is fluent in German and has taken to calling me his good girl, to my delight. The following is an account of our first encounter, where I earned my nickname, and it as accurate to the truth as my memory:
2:00 ish PM- My phone chirps. It's H. He's just arrived in town, having driven across the state with the sole purpose of fucking me. He has texted me a picture of the hotel room he booked for us tonight. "Nice Digs," he says. Why yes, I think to myself, a nice room to either have the kind of sex I've always dreamed of having or die at the hands of a crazy stranger from craigslist. "I'm excited," I reply, which is halfway true. I resist the urge to mention also being slightly terrified.
4:40 ish PM- I'm currently wondering if it is obvious to my Uber driver that I'm on my way to meet a man from the internet who will, if I'm lucky, tie me up and have his way with me. It probably isn't. H and I have agreed to meet at 5:00 pm, so naturally I'm about 15 minutes early. H has also already arrived. Apparently, we are both the type of people who are chronically early. H is sitting at the bar and hugs me in greeting. I take off my jacket and suddenly feel like the (really cute) low cut dress I'm wearing may have been too slutty of a choice. Does that make a bad impression? Or like a great one? Can one be too slutty in this particular situation? I take a seat and order a drink. H is an exceptional conversationalist and we speak easily and freely. My nervousness ebbs away, due partially to the strawberry margaritas, but also to his manner. He has a way of comfortably owning a space.
5:45 ish PM- Because I took an Uber to the restaurant, I ride with H to the Hotel. We make a quick stop at CVS (where I sit in the parking lot like a nerd, googling the origin of the name 'Quantico'. Its Native American.) for lube and then to the Hotel. H has booked a room on the executive level, so one has to have a key card to even access the floor. This is both comforting (no riff-raff wandering the halls) and slightly alarming (like, if he kills me, how long until the authorities find my body?). My mind is wandering until H opens the door to the room and gestures for me to enter first.
I don't really understand how I feel as I take in the details of the room. Standard hotel desk, standard bed, with an absolutely not standard array of sex toys carefully arranged on the comforter. I knew in theory, before arriving, that H had toys. I knew in theory that H would use toys on me. I did not expect the wave of anticipation, and strange calm, as I realized theory would become reality for me. Tonight. H fiddles at his laptop and music begins to fill the room. He turns to watch me explore the items that he has laid out on the bed. Cuffs, collars, a leash, spreader bar, paddles, gags, vibrators, dildos, arm restraints. All things I have read about. All things I have wondered about. I reach for a paddle, running my fingers along both sides, one fuzzy and one smooth, taut leather. I pass it to H and he demonstrates its power by slapping it against his palm. The sound makes me flinch. And ache.
"Where would you like to start?" His voice cuts through my thoughts. I'm currently holding a leather cuff in one hand, and stroking a heavy metal leash with the other. I'm entranced. I can't possibly choose. I want to feel everything.
"Dealer's choice," I reply, looking up at him.
He smiles, wickedly, rubbing his hands together. "Are you sure you want to give me that kind of power?" I smile and my eyes fall back to the array in front of me. Yes, I do. I really want to feel you have that kind of power. I need it.
My actual answer is much less confident, "Well, I'm sure you won't kill me."
H chuckles. "No, I won't kill you," he assures me as he moves to stand behind me.
H reaches for me and I tremble. He asks if there are any buttons on my dress. I'm already breathless at his touch, and can barely manage the tepid 'nope' that I respond with. My dress is pulled up and over my head, and H makes quick work of my bra. In quick moments I am standing in front of him, pressing backwards into him, as he explores my body. His strong hands slide down my form, squeezing my breasts, my curves, my ass. Setting me on fire.