I first caught sight of Gill's advert when I was browsing "Strictly Obeying Her Orders." It had long been one of my favourite websites, largely because it contained galleries of pictures of dominant ladies in pretty some kinky attire. Many of them are very well presented, not at all like the old hazy Polaroids you used to get in the days of rubbishy magazines like Reader's Wives. That gives my age away a bit doesn't it?
Hers was quite spectacular in fact. A slim redhead posing in tight black leather and boots. The text said that she was looking for a full time live in slave, the stuff of my dreams. I set to work once on my reply and mailed it to her that evening.
At forty eight I'm not exactly in my first flush of youth, it takes quite a bit of time to gain the necessary experience and to realise exactly what it is that you want in life. To come to learn and appreciate the true nature of a man's submission to a dominant woman. Anyway, after more than three decades of hankering for a permanent relationship with the sort of women that can put a man firmly in his place, and who see that place as beneath their booted feet I was ready for a new adventure. And I did have a fair bit of experience, albeit with pro Dommes, one of whom In particular I have to say had been very good and personally responsible for my sexual education.
Not all of them were of course. In my early years I had my fair share of bad experiences with women who merely saw it as a way to make money and took little or no interest whatsoever. Eventually though I had settled on this one. Verity was a pretty, petite brunette with the remnants of a mellifluous Edinburgh accent, a superb slim figure, neat, small breasts and long, long legs. Oh, and she was clever too, a university graduate. Most importantly though she possessed a sadistic streak a mile wide and looked incredibly hot in a variety of black leather outfits, always worn with a pair of spike heeled knee boots that boosted her height to virtually the same as my own. Of course that was pretty much irrelevant, we had established from the outset that my place when before here was always to be on my knees.
I had, from the our first meeting fallen for Verity completely. Maybe it was her easy going relaxed attitude that had lulled me into a sense of well being. I won't deny that her physical attractions were part of the package. Although this wasn't essentially a sexual relationship, the exchange of power being far more important, she was an extremely good looking woman. Long limbed and small breasted with a tiny waist that when we were in one of our sessions was normally confined by an obviously expensive laced black leather corset, the bodice of which gave those perfectly formed globes of flesh a well defined cleavage. The deeper pink of her aureoles barely covered by the tight fitting leather, peeped out in a most enticing and teasing manner.
I fell for her completely, delivering myself into her hands, effectively saying "Take me and have fun." That worked surprisingly well for us both. I visited her "studio" every month on the first Sunday.. The attic of the substantial detached thirties house on the outskirts of a provincial city in Eastern England had been transformed into a fully equipped and very atmospheric dungeon. Domina V, as she styled herself, had been married for several years and during that period in her life had worked as a practice manager for a firm of solicitors. She freely admitted that the breakdown of her marriage had been largely due to the incompatibility of her and her husband's sexual inclinations.
"He was a very vanilla man," she had told me. "Just wanted to fuck me every night and for me to give him head every Sunday morning. For me that wasn't what it was about. Luckily he found himself a little floosie fifteen years younger to do all that and left me with the house."
We actually matched up pretty perfectly. I particularly enjoyed the fact that our sessions were so unhurried. She would offer me coffee afterwards and on a few occasions we went out for a post play lunch together. In fact it turned into quite a firm friendship, our conversations often lasted for hours as they ranged far and wide. This was helped by the fact that we shared the same opinions on many areas of life.
On the subject of kink we most definitely did. Those wonderful sessions followed much the same pattern but they never seemed to pall. My mind raced each time I approached the southern outskirts of the city, nervous as to what the next couple of hours might have in store for me, she was sufficiently sadistic to be challenging and I had to steel myself for that challenge. On my arrival I would make my way up to the top floor, undressing in the little ante room next door to the dungeon and taking my place on the floor, on my knees. I felt incredibly vulnerable at this time. We had settled on placing no limits on our play, although we had agreed on one point, that of no permanent harm. In reality that allowed her a very wide range of options and the scope for inflicting a great deal of pain. It was something that I would have no control over whatsoever, and that was what I wanted.
So many men view their submission as merely a form of sexual foreplay. To us however it was something rather deeper than that. For it to work it was essential that it moved deeper, that we explored the wilder shores that only a total power exchange offered. And so this was the form that our sessions took.
Completely naked apart from my own collar that I wore, a heavy black leather one with the word "SLAVE" spelled out in silver studs, I waited until I heard the slow, staccato tap of her boot heels as Verity made her way along the hallway that connected the room where I knelt to her dungeon. This was the point where I moved my face forwards and downwards until it almost touched the varnished wooden boards. The door slowly opened and my mistress entered the room. "Good morning boy!"
