Cruel Love

He was charming, as ever, as he walked with me to what he called his play room.

"You found me okay, then?"

"Oh yes. Thank you."

"Goodo."

He was dressed very differently from when we had first met, in a pub, trying to find somewhere quiet to talk.

Then, he was smart/casual, but looked gorgeous in a well-tailored tee-shirt and a lovely jacket. His hair was waxed back; salt and pepper to be sure, but beautifully styled. I regretted that I had turned up in a summer floral dress. He looked like Cary Grant and I looked like the unreformed Eliza Doolittle.

The conversation was stilted at first...

"Do you like fish?" he remarked.

"Not really. Not much. No."

"Oh."

He didn't behave at all like I'd imagined a Dom would behave. Not that I knew anything about how a Dom might behave since I'd never met one before. He let me choose the wine, which I'd been led to believe Doms would choose for both of us.

"I thought you'd be all masterful and order everything for me."

"But you don't like fish. I'm glad I know that now. I might make it work against you."

"You wouldn't!"

"I might..."

He said that with such a twinkle in his eyes that I started to giggle. I think I even snorted once or twice.

"Are you okay?"

He knew I was and his smile made me feel so special.

We'd talked about BDSM at the end of the evening. Well, he talked. I'd already admitted how little I knew about the real thing but I'd told him about a boy down the road who would tie me up in some scenario or other when I was ten or twelve. He was completely reassuring and confident that I would be fine: that we shouldn't leave our sense of humour outside the door. That, after all, it should be fun.

The next day, I'd had the most wonderful email from him:-

My dear Jan,

I'm just writing to say how much I enjoyed your company last night. You looked wonderful and I was convinced that there was an attraction there as soon as you entered the room.

You really were the belle of the ball. I could see other men looking at you, for sure, but other women did too. There's something about you so wonderful, so full of, well, a mixture of fun and sensuality. Words aren't working here! You held me spellbound all evening. I wasn't able to take my eyes off you.

I hope I put your mind at rest about what we're going to try. And I do very much hope you still want to.

Much love,

Oliver xx

In truth, he had me from the first glance and I sensed he knew that. He was confident without a trace of arrogance.

I called him and we set a date. I asked him what he wanted me to wear. He said it didn't matter, that he had some things he thought would look good on me. I shuddered with something like a mixture of joy and excitement. Maybe there was a little fear in there, too, but nothing was going to stop our first play session.

And here I was, walking behind him and toward the play room. What greeted me when I opened the door was how ordinary it all looked. Just a few bondage posters on the wall, otherwise it might have been his study. But I didn't know then what I know now.

He was looking for something in a closet as the door closed behind me. He brought out quite a large box and, without turning to look at me, said, "Put this on."

I put the box on a table and opened it. The dress I held up was beautiful; a burgundy red gown you might have worn to a cocktail party in the 1950s.

"Oh, this is lovely!"

"Just put it on."

His voice had changed. His confidence at a new high. I tested it with a little joke.

"May I laugh while you spank me, Sir?"

Clearly and devastatingly, I soon became aware that this was the wrong thing to say. There was nothing from him; not even a polite snigger.

Then he turned to me, those eyes blazing to my very core, and I knew what I had to do. It wasn't coldness or a feeling of distance, just a remarkable sense that he was in charge and I was there to satisfy his needs. Mine didn't matter.

I felt nothing but elation as I took off all my clothes. He stared at me the whole time and I felt no trace of embarrassment as I stood naked before him. The dress fit me so perfectly it might have been made for me.

He had moved, a little, in front of a mirror.

"Come to me..."

His command over me, quite extraordinarily, was complete. I walked over to him and saw myself in the mirror. I had never looked, or felt, so beautiful.

As I reached him, he held out his hands and manoeuvred my body so that my back was facing him. He held my upper arms behind my back with one hand. With the other he began to hold my neck, not at all aggressively, but with a sureness of touch that made me tremble. He moved my hair away from the side of my face and kissed it; tiny kisses, almost imperceptible.

Then I felt his tongue on the nape of my neck. It moved around to the side, still kissing me tenderly.

I was afloat in a sea of desire. I just wanted him to make love to me. The passion I felt was indescribable.

He bit my neck, at first gently and then more firmly, sucking my flesh into his mouth, sometimes through his teeth. It hurt, a little, but I wanted him to bite me harder. He clearly read my mind because that is just what he did. As I let out a faint scream, his hand immediately covered my mouth.

Everything stopped. I knew not to turn round. From somewhere he had produced a piece of rope and, after pushing my head down, I felt something happening and before I had any idea what was going on, my wrists had been tied together. This was what I wanted, what I had wanted for as long as I could remember. I knew he could sense my longing. A few reassuring kisses, then more rope, this time pulling my elbows together so tightly that they met.

He did everything with such a sureness of touch, I was barely aware of time passing. I felt my head go back and he kissed me again. I started to say, "Please" but before the word was fully uttered, his mighty hand covered my mouth again.

"Shhh. Don't utter a single word."

I felt so vulnerable, which was exactly the way I had always wanted to feel.

More rope, this time loops of it just above my breasts, then just below them. They were tight and I was aware how little movement I had, but there was no discomfort. When he claimed over dinner that he knew what he was doing when it came to bondage, he was proving himself right with every knot.

Starkly, he put his hand on the rope covering my body and turned me around to face him. I dare not look at his face. Another rope was placed between my breasts, binding the upper and lower ropes. I looked down to see them wrapped like supermarket chickens. Again, I felt sexier than at any other moment in my life.

Now he put his hands on my head and played with my hair; gently at first but then really pulling it in all directions. When I let out a yelp, there was no covering my mouth this time. This hurt and I couldn't help squealing.

But how I wanted him to carry on. And every time I thought that, he did. My head was being tossed from side to side, toward the floor, pushing me back. I was now aware that he was pulling me around the room by my hair. It was bliss. I sensed that he wanted to hurt me and I let out moans and groans much of the time.

Suddenly, it all stopped and he slapped my face. Once. It took my breath away. For the first time, he was staring at me and me at him. There was nothing but tenderness in his eyes but he must have seen the terror in mine. But I wanted him to do it again. He didn't. He ravished me by moving his hands all over my body. I had no idea where they would be the next time he moved them.

He kissed me; a full on the mouth kiss which just made me want to wrap myself up and give myself as a gift to him forever.

He had played 'rough' before when his roaming hands were sending electrifying pulses all over my body. But what he did next made me quiver.

Starting at the front of the dress, he began to rip it off me. This time, he seemed to have no method. Great clumps of the beautiful dress came away in his hands. Sometimes he tore away at it like a mad man. Sometimes he removed parts of the dress, trapped under the rope, with scissors with a deftness I'd never imagined possible. Before long, that dress, that beautiful dress, lay in shreds on the floor with me beside it.

He had never tied my legs and when the last stitch of the dress was off my body, he pulled himself on top of me.

He held me, my body still completely bound. His tongue followed the contours of my upper lip so gently, while a finger from somewhere traced my lower lip. He played with my hair; not forcefully like before, but caressing it, cajoling it to fall exactly where he wanted it to.

My breasts had been thrust forward by the ropes which held my elbows. This made my nipples protrude and when he started to kiss them, again drawing each one into his mouth, it was electrifying. I wanted to say, 'Carry on doing this. This is bliss.' But he did anyway, again giving me the feeling that he could sense my thoughts.

I wanted to cum but I knew I shouldn't. His mouth was still on my nipples, drawing circles around them, with his tongue, now drawing them into his mouth.

His hands moved down and felt my wetness. His fingers drew some of the moist juices onto them and he put those fingers in my mouth. He went deep down the back of my throat. I wanted to gag but I thought if I did he might stop and I didn't want him to.

He was on top of me. His mouth and his tongue were still exploring my nipples which were so prominent by now and completely soaked with his wetness and my own. When he thrust himself into me, it felt like a tsunami: the waves and ripples powered through my whole body. He put his arms astride my face and moved himself inside me.

Never for one moment did this feel silly or deviant. My bound body was just part of his complete and utter control over me. He pushed himself inside me again and again and I couldn't hold back a moment longer.

I came. And he came at exactly the same moment. The orgasm went on and on and I had no way of stopping it. I had lost control of my mind and body completely. He owned me, he would tell me when the orgasm was over.

We were both breathless and in a sort of locked-in paradise. When his body moved to my side, I put my head on his chest, feeling it move up and down slower and slower. He held me with great tenderness but still that awesome power over me was there. My legs trembled.

He untied me in seconds and we embraced and kissed and meant it.

Slowly, he gathered me up and carried me into the lounge. We sat on a sofa, not saying much but giggling a lot. He brought me wine. There was a fire burning. This was heaven, surely.

"I'm a bit pissed off about what you did to that dress, you know," I said in a mock solemn voice.

"I thought you might be..." and he put his hand behind the sofa and pulled out a box.

"For you," he said.

I knew what it was and I held it to my face. I adored it and I adored him. And I knew he felt the same way about me. The dress said it well enough, but the passion with which he man-handled my bound body and the care he took of me afterwards told me much more.

As I was ready to go, I looked him in the eyes and said,

"No spanking tonight, then?"

"That's for next time..."

"And may I laugh while you're spanking me?"

"You wouldn't dare."

And I knew, right there and then, that he was right...