I was face-down on the king size bed, my legs and arms splayed obscenely in a manner devoid of all modesty.
Muscles screaming and bruises blooming like medals etched on skin, my rag-doll body remained motionless in the precise position it had finally been left after the most incredible and somehow still unbelievable day I’d ever experienced.
My mind drifted back, marveling at how four such tiny words had been the catalyst to this... today... and how in just 12 hours the boundaries of my world had expanded by light years.
Four tiny words: “Do you trust me?”
I’d always known my desires ran dark and I’d felt a lifetime of deep yearning to explore them, but deeper still ran the vulnerable, primal fear of a spiral out of control if I enacted them; of lasting injury or worse.
Fear ruled and suppressed desire for years, until the day Daddy became Daddy.
It was then that the walls of my self-imposed “safety first” serial monogamy philosophy began to crack.
Daddy enchanted me, delighted me, used me and showed me more each day how much I wanted to please him.
Daddy knew the limits of my experience but he also knew my fantasies, and I knew his appetites.
Daddy wanted me to be fucked so thoroughly that my very existence would contract to nothing but sensation and pleasure.
He wanted to play the lead role in this production, but, he teased, with a cast of more than two.
Thus those fateful four words were uttered, and without hesitation my answer was: “Yes!”
Daddy told me the following day that he’d made arrangements and I was to present myself at his door at 11am sharp on Saturday wearing nothing but boots and a corset under a coat.
The nights that followed passed in a sleepless fever of excitement and trepidation.
