This is 100% a work of fiction springing from my own imagination. Any resemblance to real events or people (be they living, dead or zombie) is no more than a startling coincidence.
*
"Hello . . ."
He looked up from his book. There was a young woman in the doorway to his bedroom. She looked to be about twenty-five.
"How did you get into my house?"
"I, um, your housemate gave me . . ."
He laughed. "I'm joking, sorry, I don't have many visitors. Have a seat."
"Oh, of course. Thank you."
He turned back to the book and continued to read, curious how she would react. He really wasn't looking for any visitors and the story was interesting.
"Your housemate said that . . . that . . ." She stumbled over her words, feeling awkward. It would have been better to call first, she realized. Although perhaps that would make her look too interested. She wasn't about to come off as desperate the first time she met him.
He looked at her curiously. "I've gotten the impression that Tom says a lot of things about me to a lot of people."
"Yes. I mean no!" The next few words came tumbling. "He said you were into that kind of thing!"
He slipped a bookmark carefully into place and placed the book onto his desk. "Into what kind of thing, exactly?" If Tom was trying to set him up it was being done well. He started to make a guess about what she was referring to but stopped himself, not wanting to offend her. Besides, if he was right, it was far more important to him that she knew how to ask.
"You know," she looked at her toes, "the whole whips and chains type stuff."
He bit his thumb and looked at her more carefully than before. She was quite attractive. Shoulder length blond hair tied in a pony tail. Her clothing seemed conservative at first glance but in fact highlighted her features quite nicely. She had very dressed carefully.
"Ah . . ." He tried to keep his voice steady. "I don't do 'whips and chains' as such. Nowhere to put the chains you see and I just don't like using whips on principle."
"Oh." She turned beet red and moved to leave. "I'm really sorry then, Tom really seemed to think that you enjoyed that kind of . . ."
"No, you you misunderstand. I just don't happen to physically have any chains and I . . . uh, really don't like using whips. Not quite my scene." He flashed a quick smile but it collapsed almost instantly to a sort of severe curiosity. "Why did you come here?"
"Um, your housemate, Tom, is a friend of mine and . . ." She trailed off, blushing again. It was quite endearing.
He scratched his head and stood up. The conversation was going nowhere. He placed a finger under her chin and raised her eyes up to meet his. She looked almost frightened, but not of him. Embarrassed. Humiliated to even bring it up. "Go on. I promise that I'm in no position to judge you for anything."
She found herself unable to break eye contact. The words poured out, she was afraid that if she didn't say everything as quickly as possible her nerve would fail and that would be the end of it. "I didn't want to go meet some random guy and ask him to tie me up or something because he might be a psycho. So I asked Tom if he could give me any advice, he knows all kinds of people, Tom said you liked that kind of thing but there was no way you were dangerous because he knew you really well."
"Alright. That's enough." He gave a little smile and released her. "I . . . well I certainly believe that you know Tom."
She giggled in spite of herself.
"Do you actually want to be whipped?" he asked.
"I guess I hadn't thought about that."
"Think about it now."
She stayed silent. He walked over to the door placed a hand on the knob. He let out a breath then turn back toward her. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Water is fine, thank you."
A minute later he returned with two glasses of ice water. Handing one to her he sat back down.
"Well?"
"I guess I don't really want to be whipped. I just thought . . ."
He cut her off. "That's fine. Sharp pain, like a whip or a flogger, isn't something I enjoy inflicting. It isn't something you should be asking for if you don't want, either. Nonetheless there are many different types of pain in the world. Not all of them are physical. I do enjoy causing some of those."
He stared at the ice in his glass, suddenly lost in thought. She took the moment of reprieve to examine him. He was a strange person, not more than a few years older than she was. In many ways he was almost the opposite of what she had expected. A slight and unassuming man who's most intimidating trait appeared to be a collection of books that lined every wall of the room so that the walls were completely hidden. She waited for him to speak rather than break the silence.
"Clearly," he said looking up again, "you think that what you want in a relationship falls somewhere outside the accepted norm. The phrase you're looking for is BDSM. Right?" He continued without letting her answer. "The 'whips and chains' angle you referred would be the SM part, that is, sadism and masochism. Named after two rather interesting people." He stopped. She didn't really care. No one really cared about etymology. "Anyway, while the equipment gets all of the attention there really is a great deal more to the lifestyle. I think all the other parts are more important. Tom's usually making excuses to leave after listening to me talk for this long, by the way. You're a good listener. For example I prefer the DS section. That is big 'D' little 's', for dominance and submission. The capitalization is done like that . . . I'm babbling aren't I?"
She smiled bemusedly.
"I'll rephrase. Does power-play interest you at all?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Stand up."
She rose quickly.
"Spin around."
She turned in a circle once.
His voice hardened, "I didn't say to stop."
"I'm sorr-" He placed a finger on her lips.
"No need to apologize. Just obey and change the behavior for next time."
She began again. Just obey. That was something she could do. It made her feel like a child or a puppy. For whatever reason she could feel herself warming at the treatment. The only thing he wanted from her was obedience.
After a few rotations he told her to stop. Moving behind her he traced her collar bone with his index finger and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "I mean something like that." Then, stepping back, he laughed. "Slightly more sexual, of course."
She drew a deep breath. "Um . . . I think I might enjoy that."
