Authors: Natalie Dae
Tags: #Erotic Romance Fiction
Walking into Bondage City had been a revelation. It wasn’t the plush-carpeted, beautifully decorated place I had envisaged. Instead, bare, cream-painted walls and large, shiny gray floor tiles had been the order of the day in a reception that housed a scarred teak desk. The woman behind it—now she’d been a sight, all brassy blonde hair in a chignon, a too-tight corset that had me automatically holding my breath and a mouth so slathered in red I’d wondered how many men would go home with lipstick on their collars.
“Why did you choose Bondage City?” I asked, pushing closer into Dan’s embrace. “We know there are better places out there.”
I smiled, my cheek bunching against his chest. “You’ve got me. Because I was new to the game and didn’t know there
nicer places. I just thought…well, someone like you would have known.”
“As opposed to someone like you?” He chuckled. “We’re both from the same backgrounds. If you want to psychoanalyze it, I’d hazard a guess that going ‘downmarket’, for want of a better term, meant we’d reduce the risk of being seen, of people in our circles finding out our desires. People who wouldn’t understand them—because ours are different to theirs, I think. Plus, we have parents to consider, brothers, sisters… Bringing shame on them—which is how it would be perceived—possibly wasn’t something we would be comfortable doing. Visiting somewhere your family or peers wouldn’t—it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“And now there’s Marshall Cottage, we don’t have to worry about any of that. Mr M makes sure no one from our immediate circles would be allowed there. No one we know can go there when we’re there. He does thorough searches, you know that. We can relax. And don’t you find it hideous that we have to consider such things? Who would see us, what they’d think? I’m almost past it, Victoria. Really.”
“So if your parents…?”
He laughed, the sound rumbling into my ear. “All right. I’m not past it. But you know what I mean.”
“I do.” And I did.
We’d found a safe haven in Marshall Cottage, where everyone accepted everyone for who they were. Or so I’d thought until that woman had stared at us. How could a glance—all right, a long stare—bring about such uneasiness? I’d been on edge since then, wondering if I was supposed to know her, whether our paths had crossed at some point. Whether Mr M hadn’t checked well enough and someone had slipped through the proverbial net. My mind had gone into overdrive, me imagining she could be a friend of a friend of a friend, someone I’d met but hadn’t taken much notice of at the time. But that she’d recognized me and knew exactly who I was…
“That woman,” I said. “I’ve been so silly.”
“Wondering if I’d been acquainted with her, if she’d tell someone I know what we get up to there. Yet
might not want anyone knowing
attends.” I sighed, annoyed that I’d let this consume me, that I’d let it filter into our happiness. Tainting it. Making it seem wrong.
“Exactly. Listen, I know we’re not the customary couple there. I know we stand out as unusual. But we’re not. Why is it different for a woman to be naked on her hands and knees, guided around by a Master? It’s the same thing as what we do, except the roles are reversed, but because we’re the only couple at the cottage who behave that way round… Please, forget it. Forget her. If you like, I can speak to her Master. Ask him why she was staring. Request that she stop. But I really don’t think I need to. He’ll have put her straight. Perhaps she’s new to the lifestyle. Maybe he’s teaching her the wonders of our world.”
I decided to put her out of my head. This had taken up far too much thinking time and had bled into our idyllic life. To allow her to affect me was going against everything I’d promised myself when I’d begun my relationship with Dan.
We were as we were. We suited one another.
If we earned curious glances, so be it.
I wasn’t going to let a novice sub, if that’s what she was, put a dampener on our fire.
“It’s time for you to get ready,” I said, pulling away from Dan to walk across the open-plan living room to a door that presented onto a short hallway. I paused, leaning on the jamb. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to worry about her anymore.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, joining me.
He kissed me, pushing me against the wall, holding my wrists at my sides. When he was like this I was swept away, in awe of how he had me feeling. Desperate for him with a longing that went so deep I could never see the end of it if I lived a thousand years.
I snatched my mouth away, turned my head to the side, gasping for breath. “God, Dan. You’re no sub.”
“No,” he said. “Just like you’re no Domme.”
Dan was naked—except for a pair of PVC boxers, a black leather studded dog collar and a long silver chain that hung from it. The end almost touched the floor. The chain wasn’t the heavy type, more just for show than anything else, yet it gave the right impression. That I was the Dominant and he the sub. The fact that it was actually the other way around was something I found warming. A secret we shared.
“I see you’re ready,” I said.
I slipped into my black raincoat and belted it at the waist. Beneath, my light-pink leather corset was comfortable. I never tied the laces too tight. And pink—there was a reason for that, yet another secret that had come about, but only in the past week. I’d previously always worn black. It had given me a severe look, perhaps of a Domme that was too harsh, and it hadn’t sat well with me. Not since that woman—
No. She doesn’t figure. Stop letting her bother you.
We’d been to an underwear boutique that catered to clientele who wanted more than the average lacy knickers and bra. It was situated behind the shopping center, tucked neatly away down a meandering, brick-paved alley where specialist shops sold the kind of things people couldn’t buy in department stores. A toy shop boasting model airplane kits. A 1960s-style hairdressers, where women sat under old-fashioned dryers, their hair in rollers instead of being curled by heated tongs. A china place, selling teapots with matching cups and saucers, or dainty doilies and silver cake stands.
The corset had been displayed in a window, worn by a headless, armless torso covered in skin-colored felt. The mannequin had brought to mind Italy, art and sculptures—except the usual black-veined gray marble was absent. I’d fallen in love with the garment it wore immediately. It had spoken to me of softness yet still retained the raw carnality I was used to adopting when in role. It said so much—to me, deep in my soul. I imagined myself wearing it, the way it would transform my mindset and give me a sense of being strong yet vulnerable.
And I felt perfect in it now. My stockings, black and sheer, were held up by dainty straps, and a pink garter spanned the top of one thigh. Black shoes finished the outfit off nicely.
I stared at Dan as he stood in the bedroom doorway with the backdrop of our curtained, four-poster bed with a gilt-edged mirror attached to the headboard. Stripped of his commanding daywear—white shirt, black tie and suit—reduced him to something else. Some
else. With his lean form and subservient facial expression, he appeared in role—a sub ready to be dominated, pushed to new levels. Yet the glint in his eyes said otherwise. Behind them hid the emotions of a man whose muscles rippled with his strength, his mind awash with asserting control, and a need to command so great it almost overtook him. He’d told me that once, that if I weren’t there to curb his tendencies, he might go out of his mind with trying to hold everything in.
“It’s time to go,” I said.
He lifted the chain then handed the end to me. This was where the magic happened, the sanction between us burgeoning, growing stronger than it was in our day-to-day life. This was where we fully acknowledged that lines were drawn and must never be crossed unless consent was given wholeheartedly. Where I agreed to do whatever he ordered, obeying so that it seemed he hadn’t demanded anything at all. A strange set-up to an observer, should they realize what we were really about.
“Why,” they might say, “can’t
just trail around after
while he openly commands you? Why does it have to be like this?”
The chain was cold on my palm, and I gave him one last, appraising look before opening my mouth to begin what would hopefully be a wonderful session.
“On your hands and knees,” I said.
He went down, staring up at me for not only a new directive but to make it clear he expected one. A silent order, one of many we’d grown accustomed to using so our outward appearance and demeanors looked the opposite of what they were.
“Tonight we’re going to try something new.” I tugged the chain. “Something we’ve discussed recently.” I stroked his shower-damp hair. “Do you want to know what it is, or would you prefer to wait?”
We’d spoken of a few things, but one in particular had piqued my interest. I wanted to know how a Master would handle such a sex act yet still maintain the Master role. Would this be the one thing he couldn’t control? Would what I wanted to do to him topple him from his pedestal of security and show him that
becoming a sub wasn’t so bad after all?
“I’ll wait, Mistress.”
“That was the correct answer. Come along.”
I gave the chain a sharp yank. It snapped against his shoulder and neck, a dull thud of metal on skin. If it hurt, he gave no indication. I contemplated doing it again but instead walked toward the front door. This was where my stomach always somersaulted, where our carefully hidden life could come splashing out into the open, a gush of shockingly cold water on the faces of those who might see us leaving our home this way. Although we struggled with being found out, we tested it every time, goading Fate to expose us for who we really were.
A contrary pair, us.
I opened the door then strode out into the hallway, deliberately not checking to see if anyone was around. No one should be on our floor unless they were visiting—and we had made it quite clear we didn’t entertain visitors on a Friday night. Dan followed and I winced, as I always did, at the pressure the wooden floor in the hallway would give on his knees compared to our soft carpet. I locked the door then went to the lift, seemingly uncaring as to whether he could keep up. It was how he wanted me to act. How he expected me to act.
I pressed the button and waited.
Here was where it could go terribly wrong. Once we were in the lift we had no control over if it stopped before we reached our level. Our careful monitoring of other residents’ comings and goings may well be imprinted on our minds, but it only took one person to deviate from their usual routine.
We entered the lift. Faced the front. I selected the car park level and watched the doors close. Stared at our smudged and warped reflections in the shiny metal. The shape of a woman and her human hound. The images were indistinct but there all the same. My corset seemed to be absent, the color merging with my flesh so that I looked as naked as Dan. What would I have felt, before I’d become a Domme, seeing this visual for the first time? What would I have done, years ago, had I been waiting for a lift and the doors had opened to reveal a couple like us? I’d have scuttled away in embarrassment, probably, but it would have further fueled my curiosity about the lifestyle.
It seemed such a long time ago that I’d met Dan. A long time ago since we’d married and set up home here. I loved him to distraction, wanted or needed no other. I looked forward to later when he made me come. Had me crying out for him to fuck me harder, take me rougher.
My stomach muscles contracted, as did my cunt. This episode was so thrilling, yet so fear-filled, that the combination of opposing emotions left me lightheaded.
The lift began its descent.
Dan breathed heavily.
One of the mechanisms whined.
I sucked in a lungful of air.
The car juddered.
No. Please don’t stop…
I battled nausea.
The lift continued as though the judder had been a mere hiccup. Coming to a stop on our selected floor, I glanced at my watch. Mr and Mrs Stewart should already be in their home. Our being here at this hour was a risk we had to take. There was only so much time between the Stewarts’ arrival and that of Mr Gold, who was usually prompt to the second, entering the car park at eight o’clock on the dot each night.
Unless traffic was bad. Unless he left work early. Unless…
The lift doors slid open, erasing our reflections as though they’d never existed. I casually stepped out, heart hammering hard, Dan padding alongside me on the soft tarmac. I walked toward our car. My ears were tuned to any sound that may mean someone was down there with us.
No purr of an engine.
No echoic shutting of a car door.
No tinkle of keys.
I pressed my fob and released a sigh of relief as my car bleeped. The sound of the locks snapping open was obnoxious and serrated my nerves. I led Dan to the boot, lifted the hatch and stared down at him.
“Get in,” I said.
He climbed inside, resting on his back and looking out at me.
“You love it in there, don’t you?” I asked. “Like a kidnapped man, that’s what you are.”
He stared at me, conveying an order I knew so well. I was to drive out of here without my raincoat on, corset in full view. I was to stare at other drivers if they stared at me, and give them a disdainful look, warning them to turn away. I was to take the scenic route through town, daring the fates to make someone we knew drive past us, notice my clothing, gape in shock. I was to become a nervous bundle of sexual tension by the time we reached the country road that led to Marshall Cottage.
I nodded, slid my coat off then handed it to him. He laid it beside him. I shut the boot. Went to the driver’s side. Got in. Started the engine. Looked in the rear-view mirror while preparing to reverse.