Bound to Please: More secrets from a submissive

A true story of submission, dominance, bondage and fabulous sex.Having split up with her Dom, Max, Sarah sets about finding a new Master. She has put her profile up on personal sites that specialise in BDSM when she gets a phone call from Maddie, a Dominatrix who, with her husband Roy, often hosts BDSM parties.What better way to find a new Master than at a masqued BDSM party? Dressing up is the order of the evening. Sarah goes along with some trepidation – it’s hard to go to any party alone, let alone one where you show up in a corset, high heels and very little else.Just when Sarah is thinking of leaving she meets Adam in the garden. He’s been having the same thoughts. Still masked they really hit it off and have a great evening together, which involves retiring to one of the playrooms Maddie has arranged.After a fabulous night together Adam and Sarah agree it would be good to meet again. But a few days pass and he doesn’t ring. Has Sarah fallen for the wrong man again?Bold, evocative and thrilling, this gripping short story provides a fascinating insight into the scandalous adventures of a real life submissive.

Bound to Please: More secrets from a submissive

   

   

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   I have always thought there is something incredibly sexy about a man in a dinner jacket and bow tie, cummerbund, the whole evening suit thing; and the way Adam’s DJ fitted him – making the most of those broad shoulders, narrow waist and long legs – proved my point. His tie was undone now and draped around his muscular neck, his shirt undone a button or two to reveal a light tan and just the hint of a hairy chest. He had the nicest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, their colour accentuated by the black velvet mask he was wearing to cover the top half of his face. Not quite knowing who he was and what he looked like added another layer of excitement.

   â€˜Is that okay? Not too tight?’ he asked as he tied my wrists together with a wide, red, soft silk ribbon.

   â€˜Yes, thank you, Sir,’ I answered politely.

   He did a double take and then laughed. ‘Impressive,’ he said. ‘Are you always this well behaved?’

   I raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you think?’

   Adam, deadpan, said, ‘Maddie told me you and I would get on. I like a subbie with a bit of fight. You’re happy? And you’re okay with the safe word?’

   I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said, well aware that Doms don’t take a nod for an answer.

   â€˜Good,’ he said. ‘You know you’re safe here with me, don’t you? If you call a halt, then that’s it. We stop.’

   â€˜Yes, Sir,’ I said.

   As our gaze met I could see the little flame of desire in Adam’s eyes and knew that it was echoed in mine. I could already feel myself responding to his delight at having a willing woman all tied up and ready for his pleasure – not to mention her own.

   In the centre of the room, suspended from the ceiling, was a length of stainless-steel chain with a hook on it that could be adjusted up or down depending on the height of the person being restrained. Adam led me over to it, took the chain and clipped the hook through the silk between my wrists and adjusted it so that my hands were above my head – not quite at full stretch but close to it.

   â€˜Comfortable?’ Adam asked as I adjusted my position.

   â€˜Yes, Sir,’ I said.

   â€˜Good,’ he said. ‘You look fabulous.’ He paused, holding my gaze so that there could be no misunderstanding. ‘And you’re happy?’

   I nodded. The truth was I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t happy, and while it might not suit everyone, this is my idea of having a good time. There was no obligation for me to play, and none at all for me to submit to Adam – it was my choice entirely and I was very happy with this particular evening’s decision.

   Adam walked around me slowly, taking his time, watching me, taking in every detail, as if I was an unexpected and very special present and he was considering where to begin the unwrapping process. Stepping closer, Adam pressed his lips into the angle of my neck and kissed me. The first touch ricocheted through my body, creating a wave of intense pleasure and expectation. And then he began nipping, licking and kissing, biting – tiny, searing red-hot bites – the brush of his mask providing an odd contrast to the sensation of his lips and tongue and teeth working down over my skin. I groaned and stretched up towards him, keen to enjoy each caress.

   Stopping for a moment, Adam leaned in closer. ‘Here, let me take your earrings off,’ he said, gently tipping my head to one side. ‘I’m worried I might catch them.’

   I smiled up at him. It was an intimate, caring thing to do, at odds with what most people would associate with Doms and subs and BDSM, but typical of my experience.

   â€˜That’s better. I’ll look after them for you, keep them safe,’ he said, slipping them into his jacket pocket. ‘Now, where were we?’

   Guessing that he was talking to himself, I didn’t reply. His lips returned to my neck, working busily up over my throat, nibbling at my ears, breathing me in, and then they worked lower, across my shoulders, down over my collarbones, each kiss, each breath building my expectation and excitement. Finally, Adam reached down and undid the zipper that fastened the corset I was wearing and freed my breasts. His mouth was there an instant behind his fingers.

   I gasped as he drew a hard dark nipple deep into his mouth, while his fingers worked at my other breast, nipping and twisting, sharp tiny pains, cupping the soft flesh in the palm of his hand, making me shiver and gasp at the heady mix of pleasure and pain. I could hear and feel his soft murmurs of delight reverberate through my skin as he bit down harder. Gasping at the intensity of the sensations, I pressed my body into his.

   It had been a while since I’d played with anyone. Max, my previous partner, had been an accomplished lover and Dom, introducing me to the mysteries and the magic of BDSM. Since we’d split up I had missed the intimacy of our relationship, both mental and physical. The relationship between Master and submissive is an intense, intoxicating mix of trust and emotion, exposing the deepest and most intimate desires of the people involved. Playing with Adam felt like rain after a long drought. I could feel my whole body responding hungrily to each caress, each touch igniting tiny glowing sparks of arousal.

   Adam closed his teeth, biting down onto my nipple, making me whimper and gasp, making me writhe with pleasure. He slid a hand between my legs, moving it rhythmically, stroking and pressing up into the crease of my sex under my panties, teasing, changing the pressure and the angle to breathtaking effect, his thumb brushing across my clitoris, his fingers separated from my moist, aching flesh by a triangle of soft leather. I moaned and moved with him, chasing his caress.

   His lips moved higher, nibbling my shoulders, gently biting my neck. I closed my eyes, relishing every touch.

   Adam pulled away and traced the outline of my mask with his fingertips. ‘You are beautiful,’ he murmured.

   â€˜Thank you,’ I whispered. ‘You too,’ I added with a smile.

   There is something empowering and exciting about living out your fantasies. There, right then, I truly felt beautiful, glamorous and mysterious, behind the black silk cat mask. I’d taken the time to put my hair up into a French knot and was wearing a fabulous boned black leather corset, which accentuated my curves, along with a matching G-string, fishnet stockings and high heels. This was all worn with a layered, black-net petticoat studded with tiny diamanté chips that echoed the ornate dangly earrings now safely tucked away in Adam’s jacket pocket. Oh, and I was wearing red lipstick – lots of fabulous red lipstick – because in my everyday life, unmasked, away from BDSM and at my desk, I would never think to wear it. Tonight, though, with the corset and the mask, it looked and felt perfect. Tonight, I had the feeling that I could be anyone and anything I wanted, and there is a joy and an added frisson in anonymity and reinvention.

   This was one of my first big nights for some time. Max was a hard act to follow, and I couldn’t imagine going back to the world of vanilla relationships and vanilla sex. It isn’t that vanilla can’t be good; it’s just that once you’ve tasted the pleasures of BDSM it’s hard to go back, and impossible to unknow what you’ve learnt about yourself and the people you have shared the journey with. For me, guided by Max, my sortie into BDSM had taken me to a place where I had been able to explore my own needs and desires in a safe and exhilarating way, and the experience had an intensity and intimacy that I had never had in a vanilla relationship.

   So, as I said, Max was a hard act to follow. I had been looking for a new Master for a while – it wasn’t something I planned to rush – when I got a phone call from Maddie, a Dominatrix I had met a couple of times while I was seeing Max. She and her husband liked to get together with other couples for parties and dinners with a strong BDSM element. Hers was a place where birds of the BDSM feather could flock together and play, drink, relax and have fun.

   â€˜So how are things?’ she said after saying hello.

   â€˜Fine –’ I said, not knowing quite how much she knew about Max and me.

   â€˜Great. I’m just ringing to ask if you and Max would like to come to a party –’

   I was about to launch into the we’re-not-together-any-more speech when she said, ‘It’s a special party for a special birthday. Although I’m not telling anyone which one. I’d love it if you could make it. I rang Max but I think he must have changed his number.’

   â€˜He has,’ I said.

   â€˜Have you got it?’ she asked. ‘I’ll update my phone book.’

   â€˜I’m afraid not. We split up a little while back.’ I didn’t explain how hard it had been or how messy, but I did say that he had decided to go back to his previous partner.

   Maddie was quiet for a moment or two and then she said, ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you two were fab together. So how are you doing?’

   Where to begin? ‘Starting over. Looking for someone new,’ I said.

   â€˜So have you found anyone else?’

   â€˜No. I’ve met a few guys but –’ I left the phrase hanging.

   â€˜Well, there you are then,’ said Maddie. ‘Why don’t you come to the party anyway? It would be great to see you. I’m just thinking who I can invite that might interest you,’ she added mischievously.

   â€˜That’s really kind but I’m not really sure about coming on my own.’

   â€˜Oh come on, you’ll be fine,’ said Maddie. ‘I’ll look after you, I promise – and we’ve got some lovely people coming. I think you’ll probably know quite a few of them already. There’s going to be good food, champagne, dancing. And there’s plenty of room for you to stay over if you wanted to have a drink.’ She paused. When I didn’t reply she added, ‘You really should come, Sarah. Where better to find a new Dom than at a BDSM party? Come on, say you’ll come. There’ll be lots of people who’ve come to play and you don’t have to join in if you’d prefer to watch. You know that. And we’ve got some other singles coming. It’ll be a chance to dress up and have some fun.’

   I smiled; Maddie was really selling it.

   â€˜Come on,’ she pressed. ‘It’ll be fun.’

   Which was why I now found myself tied up in one of Maddie’s bedrooms, with a man I barely knew, but whom Maddie assured me was a complete pussycat. A pussycat with a real gleam in his eye and a tongue that was making every inch of me tingle.

   The bedroom Adam and I were in was dominated by a large mirrored wardrobe that ran along one wall and gave a perfect view of what was going on between the two of us. I found myself watching Adam’s attentions as he moved across my body, while feeling his tongue and lips on my throat, and the nip of his teeth. It is odd to see what is going on as well as to feel it, and it added another layer of excitement and expectation, as I became both an observer and a participant. It was compelling viewing.

   Adam cupped my breast, nipping the dark peak between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it, tugging at it, while the woman in the mirror, her hands fastened above her head, gasped at the sensation. She looked mysterious and exotic in her mask, her skin slightly flushed, eyes bright with desire, as she moved under Adam’s knowing touch.

   I smiled at her and she smiled back.

   Adam caught my gaze and nodded. ‘Admiring yourself?’ he said, and then before I could reply, he continued, ‘Why don’t I give you something worth watching?’

   He picked up a riding crop from among a selection of toys on a side table and flexed it, bending it into an arc before taking a couple of practice swings to gauge the heft. He slipped off his jacket, took out his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves and tried again. The shaft cut through the air with a distinctive and familiar sound that made me flinch.

   Adam smiled at my reaction and then teased the leather tongue at the end of the crop across my hardened nipples before gently flicking them, making them tingle and throb. Circling me, he stroked down over my ribs with the leather shaft, then my stomach, my waist, up across my shoulders, my back, my bottom, my thighs. With every caress I was anticipating the crack and the sting, not the gentle kiss of its tongue. Its touch, his cool, considered attentions and the waiting made me shiver, made me ache, made me hungry for more, and then finally I closed my eyes, shutting out my reflection, full of expectation for what must surely follow.

   Was that the moment Adam had been waiting for, the moment I closed out the world and concentrated on him alone and the crop and what they could give? The moment I surrendered I felt the crop moving away and an instant later the hot wild sting as it found its mark across my back. I gasped, jerking against my restraints, as every nerve ending in my body lit up. The blow wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make me focus on what was happening, turning my eye inward.

   Before I could gather my thoughts the crop hit home again. I cried out as much from surprise as any pain, bucking and gasping for air. The stroke was still not particularly hard but it hurt nonetheless; the sensation left me breathless. I had forgotten what being cropped felt like, how sharp and how cruel the feeling, the sensations rippling out like lava from the point of contact. Despite being a subbie I’m not naturally drawn to pain; it is only here in the BDSM arena where I understand that it is a means to an end that is why I seek it out. I am torn between loving and loathing how it feels. The truth is that pain takes me to a place I can’t reach any other way, but even so I find it hard to ride the waves that lead me there.

   â€˜Can you count?’ Adam whispered in my ear as he leant in so close that I could feel his breath on my skin.

   â€˜Two,’ I whispered thickly, my voice almost lost in among the clamour of sensations.

   â€˜Very good,’ he purred, and then I heard the crop cut through the air again and braced myself, knowing what was coming next. The blow was fractionally harder this time, the sensation more acute; I gasped and threw back my head, pulling hard on the restraints.

   â€˜Too much?’ he asked.

   â€˜No,’ I whispered. ‘No.’

   â€˜That’s good,’ he said, and I could hear the delight in his voice, the pleasure and the arousal.

   â€˜Three,’ I said.

   I wondered how many strokes Adam had planned. It’s not that I was afraid of not being able to cope – I knew that if it became too much then I could call a halt – it’s just that, as I said, it had been a while and my body had forgotten how intense the crop felt. I knew full well that if Adam could read me, if there was a gentle build-up, the lashes growing in intensity, stroke on stroke, then my body would flood with endorphins so heady and so intoxicating that they are almost addictive. I didn’t want it to be too intense too soon, so that I would feel the need to stop.

   The crop hit home again. I gasped and flexed instinctively against the chain.

   â€˜Four,’ I hissed on an outward breath. I could feel my body beginning to embrace the sensation – chasing it, losing myself in it. There is no pretence with pain, no way of hiding from its effects. With my eyes closed tight, each stroke is like an arc of white-hot sparks exploding through my mind, clear as a shooting star.

   I realised how much I had missed this, how much I’d missed Max, how much I had missed the ritual and games of BDSM, as well as the intense and heady sensations that the lifestyle brings, and that feeling of being part of something bigger, something special, something all-engulfing.

   The lightning struck again and I cried out.

   â€˜Five.’ I was trembling now. My voice was thick with emotion, not from pain but from a deep, deep longing.

   â€˜Six.’ The voice no longer sounded like mine.

   And then there was silence. My whole body tingled and throbbed. I opened my eyes to see that Adam was still standing behind me with the crop in his hand. He was watching me in the mirror. His eyes were bright with desire and pure animal excitement. His identity might be a mystery but his arousal was anything but hidden; he practically glowed with it. He began to kiss my back, his lips and tongue tracing what I guessed had to be the welts – the long raised pink stripes – made by the crop. His kisses were tender, his touch electrifying. I could feel my whole body responding to his caress, a low dull hunger already building deep inside.

   â€˜Do you want more?’ Adam asked. He paused and stood up, his gaze meeting mine as his hands circled me to cup and tease my breasts. Caught up in the moment, I nodded.

   He smiled wolfishly. ‘You have to ask.’

   I stared at him.

   He laughed. ‘Come on, you know the rules.’

   â€˜Please,’ I said, struggling to find my voice.

   â€˜Please what, Sarah?’

   â€˜Please may I have some more, Sir?’

   â€˜Good girl. How many more strokes do you want?’

   Oh sweet torture to be asked just how much pain you would like. ‘Four,’ I said. It would take it up to ten; ten would be enough, I thought.

   He didn’t ask me again. The next sound I heard was the shaft of the crop cutting through the still air. The stroke was harder still and lower, across the swell of my bottom. I bucked and shrieked, stamping my feet at how much it stung.

   â€˜Seven, seven,’ I gabbled.

   I heard him chuckle as he drew the crop back again. I closed my eyes, trying to remind myself that I had asked for this. I heard him change position for the next stroke. Eight caught me lower across the back of the thighs and made me gasp it stung so very much.

   Nine was higher, across my back, and ten was full-on, a great cracking stroke across the curve of my backside, and I counted them all, lost now in an abstracted sea of sensations.

   But finally Adam was done, and, dropping the crop, he gently unfastened my wrists and guided me over to the bed, his hands exploring my body as he pressed me back among the crush of cushions and pillows. The pain had stilled my racing mind, making me calm all the way through to my core. He slid his fingers under the sides of my G-string, and I lifted my hips to help him take it off. As he slipped it off he parted my legs, gently pushing his hand up between my thighs, opening me up, exposing me to his desire.

   And all the while Adam was kissing my breasts, sucking my nipples, while his fingers were eager to explore the moist folds of my sex. I gasped as he slipped a finger inside me, his thumb brushing my clitoris. I lifted my pelvis eagerly. He made a soft throaty noise of appreciation before his kisses moved lower and lower, his tongue tracing a path down between my breasts, over my ribs, kissing and licking my navel and the sensitive skin in the bowl of my belly beneath my hip bones and the inside of my thighs. His kisses were feather-light, delicate, exciting, like a scattering of petals across my body. He worked lower still, kissing the creamy-white flesh above my stocking tops before unfastening and peeling each one off, his fingers and tongue working their way down to my knees, my ankles. Then he was slipping off my shoes and licking and sucking my toes.

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