This story concerns two people who are, both top and bottom, basically novices, and it focuses primarily on their d/s encounters rather than physical S/M. As such, there are no whips or chains, no dungeons or exotic costumes, no dilemmas, and certainly nobody trying to do things that are beyond their pay scale. In short, for the purist it may be more 'vanilla with sprinkles', as one of the protagonists puts it, than death by chocolate, and anyone seeking stronger stuff is advised to look elsewhere to avoid disappointment.
A further note - the location of this story is purposely vague, but for those for whom such things are important, consider it taking place in a medium sized western European city in more northerly latitudes; Holland or north Germany or Denmark. But in my mind there is no single location, rather a pastiche of real and imagined places.
***
"Look, it's perfect," said my wife as I gazed doubtfully at my outstretched feet from my accustomed position slumped on the computer chair, "and you said it yourself - she's done every kind of therapy and it's got her nowhere because she spends all her time talking instead of doing."
"And your solution is that I do the doing with her."
"Yes. You aren't going to get emotionally involved and she..."
"If I remember correctly, what I actually said was that she needed to break her pattern of behaviour."
"You did. And her pattern of behaviour is to come running every time that arsehole whistles, only for him to dump her once he's got what he needs. Rinse and repeat. So it's time to think of what she needs, and that's some fantasy fulfillment, no strings attached."
I waggled my toes as I pondered, my wife's expression betraying her certainty of success. But there were things to consider; our marriage certainly wasn't strictly conventional, we had occasionally swung, and I sometimes indulged her submissive tastes though I was no more than an infrequent and amateur dom. So we were neither of us experts - more vanilla with sprinkles. I knew something of 'best practice' but I had never acted as a dominant to another woman, and my wife didn't have the kind of baggage that Amanda did - the woman was a magnet for users and lightweights, and I could be taking on something I wasn't qualified for. I said as much.
"I'll be in constant touch with her," my wife reassured me, "and I'll pull the plug if I think it's getting weird."
I was defeated and I knew it. So I nodded and my wife grinned that grin wives have when they win a round they always knew they were going to win,, and I had her give me the list she'd compiled over coffees in Amanda's kitchen - her desires and her yellow lines and red lines and her safe word. I was relieved to see that her needs ran to the mental more than physical side of submission as I've never been comfortable beating someone and I'm a dunce with knots. But bossing someone around I can manage (at least for short periods of time until the effort of making someone else's decisions runs up hard against my inherent sloth).
Part One
Amanda's apartment was in a nondescript modern development in a new build suburb. Twenty years before it had been fields and now it was full of young professionals with younger families, all realizing that there had to be more to it that this. And thus the entrepreneurs had moved in, opening pop-up bars and Mongolian-fusion trattorias and ethnic florists, and good luck to all, if that's what made them happy, though it did make it a touch more difficult to find somewhere to buy a bag of potatoes and some washing up liquid and, more relevantly, an extra pack of three just in case.
I'd taken the train instead of driving, partly because I knew the parking was a mess, but also because I wanted to sink into my own thoughts. I studied my fellow passengers, idly wondering how many of them had also chosen two o'clock on a Thursday afternoon for a kinky session. Looking at them I guessed I was in a minority of one, though you never can tell. But then I turned my mind to Amanda. I'd known her very casually for about ten years, meeting her on perhaps a dozen occasions over that time, exchanging brief, inconsequential conversation, and never really considering her sexually in any way. Not that she was unattractive - she was a slim brunette who danced for a hobby and that kept her trim and proportionate, and in truth she was more beddable at thirty-six than she had been a decade before.
I thought about what she was doing right at that moment - was she trying on another outfit and rejecting it, fretting about what to wear? Was she soaking and jumpy (I'd sent her a text the evening before ordering her to keep her hands off herself, and she'd replied with a simple 'yes, sir' which I couldn't help enjoying)? Or was she utterly unconcerned, arranging flowers or marking papers or doing the crossword? And I thought about the scenario I had planned - I'd agreed with my wife that we would try one session, see how it went, and if everyone was happy I would have another week to do things from Amanda's fantasy list. I had insisted on the time limit myself, and we could always extend it if desired. But because of all this I'd decided on something simple, something that I would feel comfortable with, and looking at her list, something I'd never considered before but found intriguing.
Amanda's apartment block was five minutes from the station, startling white in the early autumn sunshine, the only apparent individuality between the flats to be seen in the furniture or drying laundry or children's toys on the steel and glass balconies. She buzzed me in without a word over the intercom, which was either positive or negative or meant nothing at all and I took a deep breath and reminded myself of who was supposed to be in control here, and then to spin things out I took the stairs, two at a time, up to her third floor apartment. I checked myself a final time in the lift lobby - I was wearing sunglasses for effect though I thought it contrived (but then, wasn't everything?), a simple t-shirt under my jacket, and combat trousers and boots, With a few days growth on my usually shaved head I looked quite intimidating, and hopefully that would give her the thrill she craved.
