“Shhh.”
I break eye contact, suddenly shy about what I’ve admitted. Shit, shit, shit.
“I understand.” He squeezes my fingers and chuckles.
I did it! My heart stampedes in my chest. If I don’t get my breathing in check, I’m going to pass out. I can’t look at him. My chest heaves with every breath. Adrenaline courses around my body. This is it. This is what has consumed my mind 24/7, and now I can’t look at him.
My stomach takes a nosedive as his finger lightly runs down my jaw and tips my head up until my eyes follow and meet his. “This is the address of my flat.” He hands me a beautiful, simple card with a few solitary lines of text. It’s the same thick card as the one he first gave me, but this one also has an address in the city.
“7:30, Tuesday evening. Take a deep breath, knock on my door and I’ll hold your hand. And, Isabel, don’t be late.”
Hearing my full name sends goose bumps across my skin. I’m struck by the intensity of the desire I feel for Seb as I look into his eyes. Aquamarine. They aren’t blue, but a brilliant aquamarine. Blues and greens mix into a bright and clear shade that I hope conceals a darker promise. He still shows little emotion. Smile. Please smile. Or something, anything. I silently plead with him to give me his trademark smile. Why did he call me Isabel? Is he cross with me? But I want to hear him call me Isabel again. Over and over.
“Sebastian,” I breathe. I finally see a response as his lips part to draw in a deep breath. “Okay.” I put a voice to my acceptance and follow it up with a shy smile. But before I have a chance to fully register everything, he stands and walks out. I feel shocked and vulnerable but aroused as hell.
The next few days are the longest I’ve ever had to endure.
I play our conversation over and over in my head, trying to analyse and understand every word he said. I’m in a constant battle with my body and my mind. My body screams to follow through with my “confession” and go to Seb. My mind won’t let me forget that Phil and I are still married. I am married. Unfortunately, Phil has done nothing to displace my suspicions over this week. He hasn’t answered any of my texts, and he was out on both nights at the start of the week. He seems to only come home for a change of clothes. What am I supposed to think? I caught myself going through his pockets and checking his jacket the other night, but I found nothing incriminating. Yet.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Seb’s beautifully dangerous, aquamarine eyes. Those eyes that make my core sizzle. They bring out a need in me that grows every day. I want to surrender and give my body to Seb. To put my needs in Sebastian’s hands. I am becoming obsessed.
My secret retreat, my favourite social platform, is my only distraction. I open my iPad and click on the Tumblr app and wait for the images to load. Women, bound and restrained in submissive poses; men, caressing and pinching at breasts, spanking flesh and leaving their mark. All add fuel to the fire of my imagination. I skip out of the application and pull up my web history, scrolling through to ‘Journey to Domination’. I open the blog and review the latest few posts. Words of submission, trust and freedom all play to my desire and the longing to feel what it’s like to be the woman giving all of her control to her partner, to put her sexual needs in his hands, grows stronger. I want to submit. I need to know what being tied, blindfolded and flogged would do to my heart rate, my breathing and my pussy. I close the window and toss the iPad to the end of the sofa.
My days creep past, undistinguished, one after the other. Nothing changes in my life. I haven’t grown horns overnight. No one is trying to hang me. My colleagues act normally around me despite what I am contemplating. That’s the problem. I’m not contemplating anymore. I’m imagining what will happen when I put myself in Seb’s hands.
Tuesday arrives and the clock stops ticking altogether. Everything at work drags. My concentration is shot. The hours creep by at a torturous pace. Five o’clock will never come.
I arrive home from work to an empty house. Phil is working. Again. It makes it easy, I suppose. I won’t have to lie about where I’m going or where I have been. I run up the stairs and dash into the bathroom. Stripping, I turn the shower on and scrub my body. Oh, shit. What am I supposed to wear? What have I got to wear?
My obsessing only took me as far as the door to Seb’s. How have I not considered the sorry state of my underwear before now? Of course, my mind automatically thinks he’s going to want to have sex with me the minute he shuts the door. Seb agreed to help me experience submission. I assumed since Seb agreed, he had a certain amount of experience as a dominant, but we hadn’t discussed the specifics. He left too soon.
I lather the shampoo into my hair, trying to relax my mind by rubbing my fingers into my scalp. Black lace knickers, plain and simple. I rinse the suds out of my long, chestnut hair and let the water wash over my body. Rubbing my shoulders, I try to relieve the tension and anxiety knotting my muscles. I hadn’t realised how tense waiting can be.
I pull on my black underwear and my favourite chic but simple grey dress that hugs the small curves that I have. I leave my hair natural and down, roughly dried by the hairdryer and head out of the door a little before seven o’clock.
As I slide out of the back of the taxi, I look up at the building in front of me. It’s smart, well designed, and complements the surrounding older-style buildings. It fits Seb. I check my watch with his warning not to be late in mind. Breathe, Izzy. Breathe. You want this. Inhaling one last breath, I place one foot in front of the other. My heart is in my mouth and I can taste the excitement. I want this experience with Seb. To be able to feel what submission means in a sexual sense.
I shake my head free of all doubt, walk up to the intercom, press the button for apartment 62 and wait. The air is crisp and biting around me. The shivers of cold rival those of my anticipation. The enormity of what I am opening myself up to hits me. I take huge gulps of air and turn back to look at the street. The sound of his voice over the intercom recaptures my focus.
“Good evening, Isabel. Please open the glass door to your left. Go into the lobby and take the lift to the sixth floor. I’ll meet you when you arrive.”
With that, the door buzzes open, and I step over the threshold to meet him. No going back. I’ll finally experience what I crave.
By the time the lift arrives, nerves and fears bubble into excitement. I am anxious to see Seb, to look at him, knowing he will be my guide, holding my hand and giving me an experience in submission. His reassurance that he will shepherd me through this experience gives me the courage I need.
The doors slide open and he is waiting for me. My entire body ignites as his eyes roam over me. My cheeks warm as I lower my gaze. I step out of the lift and take a few tentative steps towards him. He remains still and quiet, but I can feel a tension between us that isn’t usually there.
He runs his finger down my jaw and gently lifts my head, exactly how he did only a few days ago. “Good evening.”
Seb takes my hand and raises it to his lips, planting a sure and firm kiss there as if he’s a noble knight. He lowers my hand but keeps it in his comforting grip.
“I’m glad you’re here. Come in, Izzy.”
I take another step, physically and figuratively, towards a new threshold with Seb. Exactly what I need. Something to look towards with hope.
Once inside, he closes the door and walks me into an open-plan room. His place is gorgeous—spacious as well as being filled with light. I take in the sleek, modern furniture. The subtle lighting contrasts well with the oak floor and aluminium appliances, hard, clean, and masculine. He leads me across the living area to a breakfast bar, and I sit in a tall chair. He looks into my eyes, and I see a hard edge to the blue shining at me. My stomach rolls so hard that I have to focus on not gasping for air. His eyes are filled with desire and I want to get lost in them. Please, please, please, kiss me.
He cups my face and strokes his thumbs over my cheeks, giving me permission to lean into him. Blood rushes through my vein
s and the staccato beat of my heart rings in my ears.
“You look even more divine than you did when I first met you.”
His words make me long for him, and I can’t believe this is actually happening. My cheeks warm, but I manage a timid ‘thanks’ in reply. Divine—he thinks I’m divine.
Soft lips press against mine, gently at first, but he’s restrained, holding back. He pulls away too quickly, and I’m left wanting. I want everything from this man and he’s only just kissed me. Is that even possible?
“So, would you like the tour?” He flashes the signature smile I want to call mine and I nod in agreement. He takes my hand in his and gently pulls me from my seat. Silently, Seb lets me soak in his surroundings. His flat is masculine, yet inviting and elegant with plenty of space. My eyes are drawn to the large dining room table at the other end of the kitchen area. His study is small and intimate. His desk dominates the room, set curiously in the centre, allowing us to walk around it entirely.
Black-and-white photographs of women’s bodies are displayed in metallic frames throughout the rooms. Why does he have women on his walls? A horrible taste of envy coats my tongue. I want him to want to look at me and not artistically posed, half-naked women in frames.
I mentally chastise myself.
“This is my bedroom.” He doesn’t make any move to step over this threshold, so I simply take my fill as he stands to the side. A large bed with four tall posts dominates the space. The rest of the furniture is sparse, consisting of two double wardrobes, a full-length mirror and a single chair in the corner. There is another door, which I assume leads to his bathroom. I take in all the details before he pulls me away.
“One more room, Izzy,” he says.
I follow him to the last room. He opens the door and pulls me inside. Cool, neutral tones relax my senses as Seb’s hand gently drops mine. This room is smaller than his. The bed is made up with white linen, and the only colour in the room is two vibrant splashes of crimson silk in the form of cushions sitting atop a mountain of cream cushions. I look over at Seb and see his smile. “This is your room to use as your personal space, whenever you are here.” His eyes dance with pleasure and the calm the room had given me evaporates. “You can come in here whenever you want—if you need time or space, to freshen up or to prepare.” His voice is soft and smooth, teasing me about what is to come.
The meaning in his words strikes me. He’s taking the time to make sure I’m comfortable and at ease given the reason I’m here. He knows that I want to submit—experience the freedom that comes from handing over control—and submit to him. There will be a certain level of intimacy, and my earlier concern over underwear seems appropriate, now. I blush as nerves stir my stomach.
Power rolls from Seb’s confident stance and all I feel is desired. Seb walks over to the dressing table, closing the distance between us. With each step toward me, the tension crackles. “I have some items for you. And I have some rules to explain. If you really want to experience ‘more’—with me—these rules must come first.” The air is saturated with tension, and chemistry bounces between us, eager to be allowed out to play. “Isabel, I see in you something very special. I believe you’ve been hiding, even from yourself, and my offer is to help you discover that hidden part of you. The process of this discovery comes with consequences to both of us, and you’ll need to trust me.”
Doubts flash through my mind. Is my desire to find the truth behind my sexual fantasies greater than the worth of my marriage? Or simply a reaction to the hopeless situation I feel I’m in?
“Izzy, don’t shut down. Communication will be key. Talk to me.”
Oh boy! “Phil never gave me what I wanted, what I need from our relationship. I tolerated his refusal and lack of interest in what I asked for. As the years ebbed away, so did the part of me that still wanted to fight for what I needed. I denied myself, thinking it was easier than fighting. But it’s always been there—my longing to put myself in another’s hands and experience pleasure. Phil still won’t hear me, choosing to believe what I want is violent and dirty.”
“I know, sweetheart, and that’s why I’m offering this experience to you. This way you can make your own decision, safely.”
My gut tells me I should follow through with the actions that brought me here.
“Yes.”
“Good. This is the code to the lobby door downstairs and the key fob to my apartment.” He hands me a slip of paper and a black plastic box the size of a matchbox. “For all of our subsequent meetings, I expect you to arrive beforehand and let yourself in.”
The change in his speech brings me to attention. He is serious about this. “You should use this room as you would at home. Make any final preparations you wish. There will be a bottle of wine in the fridge and two glasses left out on the side. Pour two glasses and sit on a stool at the breakfast bar to wait for me. I will enter the apartment at our agreed time. You are to greet me, hand me my wine and kiss me as a welcome. We’ll start our evening from there. Is this acceptable to you?”
Acceptable? My mind struggles to keep up, but I like the sound of it. Wine, the trust, the fact that he wants me in his apartment and intends to have me here again. Yes, yes to it all.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I reply, and I manage to make myself sound calm for once.
“Good. It’s important to me that from now on you cross the threshold of your own free will, without suggestion or enticement from me. If, after I show you more, you don’t like what you feel, you will have time to turn back without me persuading you otherwise. Understand?” I nod.
“I need to hear the words, Izzy.” His voice drops, and I shiver. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I long for his touch, his seductive whispering in my ear, helping me cross over to the unknown.
“Right. Now, are you wearing tights or stockings?”
“Umm… tights.”
“I detest tights.” His tone makes me want to fall to my knees and beg forgiveness. “Tights are unflattering, impossible to remove in a sensual way and do not provide me with the access I need. Never wear them again in my presence. If you must cover your legs, wear stockings or thigh highs.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“There are consequences for breaking the rules. Not everything between us will be of a sexual nature. The submission you have been looking for comes from a multitude of things. I’m going to work on those as well, and following the rules is part of it.” The edge to his voice promises delights yet to come, the delights I’ve only imagined until now. “If I find you wearing tights again, I will rip them off, tie you up with the remains and spank you.”
Oh God, that sounds good. Is that what you’re going to do to me now? The tips of my nipples tingle, my breath catches and my heart pounds in my ears. His fierce expression makes me want him all the more. My thoughts linger on his consequences and my sex pulses deliciously. “Yes… I, um… understand,” I finally choke out, desperately turned on.
“I wish to offer you a small gift.”
Gift? A physical gift? Seb pulls out a beautiful black velvet box from the dressing table and opens the top. Nestled inside is a delicate anklet adorned with tiny pearls and clear crystals.
“I would like you to wear this anklet whenever you are happy to be totally mine, willing to obey me completely and allowing me total responsibility for your pleasures. If I see you wearing it when you are waiting for me in the kitchen, then I’ll know that you will submit to me. Completely.”
It’s my turn to offer a smile for once. “Our language is jewellery?”
“Exactly.” He closes the box and places it back on the dressing room table. I want to put it on now. I’ll submit to you now. That’s why I’m here, Seb.
He cups my face again. This time, he holds my gaze. Completely helpless in his hands, I am eager to please him. He leans in and explores my lips, scorching them with his passion. He pushes at my bottom lip. His tongue gently sweeps across my top lip, opening my mouth to
his. I moan involuntarily as pressure consumes me and my mouth takes over. My lips move, devouring his as all of my hope and expectations surface. He releases my face. His hands run down my shoulders to my wrists and he traps them behind my back in a strong, controlling grip. The kiss burns wildly as our tongues seek each other out, exploring and teasing. It’s filled with the anticipation of what’s to come, and I’m wet with desire for him.
My body is awash with new feelings. Nerves and excitement mix with a raw sense of lust, and my head swims.
He pulls away and I instantly miss his lips. He rests his forehead against mine and breathes out slowly.
Please kiss me. Kiss me again. Now!
I feel more cherished and cared for in that moment than I have in as long as I can remember. That kiss unlocked all the emotions raging inside me, all the pain and disappointment, the sadness and frustration that I didn’t even realise I’d held onto. It’s all I can do not to break down in Seb’s arms.
“Isabel, you taste so good.”
How am I going to survive Seb? He kisses as if he wants to consume me. I’m going to pass out from pleasure. I don’t say anything, but continue to breathe in through my mouth, my eyes closed, and concentrate on not passing out. My mind reels with thoughts stemming from the intensity of that kiss.
“What time do you have to leave?” he whispers.
“Midnight. Phil, when he does come home, gets in around 2 a.m.”
“He doesn’t always come home?”
“No. You know we’re not close.”
“In which case, Cinderella, I’ll book your carriage now.”
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