I’m at a loss and decide to submerge myself for a few hours in my now second-favourite pastime and log on to my BDSM profile. I play for a while and add some content before I feel restless. The imagery I’m seeing isn’t just fantasy anymore. I understand the heat that flashes across your skin after it’s spanked. Seeing it on-screen only heightens my want for more experiences with Seb.
Spilling my worries to Jess has helped, but she’s given me more to think about. One thing, though—nothing she said made me think any differently about Seb.
I will still go to see him on Friday, and I’ll enjoy every second of it. My mind flashes with images of his face, his eyes, and how it felt last night with his skin against mine. I’m utterly certain that I’ll do it again.
For the rest of the day, I clean the house and play on a few social sites. I shake off my emotional funk and try to think positively. Jess is right. I try to make two mental boxes in my head: one for Phil and my marriage, and the other for Seb. Separating them doesn’t stop me thinking about Seb, and almost as soon as he pops into my head, my mind conjures vivid details. His kisses and his touch, the room, the anklet, and the sheer vulnerability I felt when he undressed me. Shit… What will I wear? I remember my previous thought about lingerie and decide to go shopping after work tomorrow. For the first time today, a small smile creeps across my face as I go back to cleaning the bathroom.
I walk into Oh La La and immediately feel intimidated. I haven’t bought sexy lingerie in years. I’ve gotten by perfectly well with my simple but feminine bras and knickers. What would Seb like? What would he like me in? What do I want to wear for him? The first couple of items are easy. Black, lacy, balcony bras with matching knickers. The bras emphasise what little bust I have without going for the obviously padded extra, and they are very pretty. Stockings and thigh highs. Seb’s words are still in my mind as I walk over to the hosiery section. The memory of his strong and commanding voice washes over my body and sends shivers to my pussy. I choose a modest black and nude pair of thigh highs before I opt for a decidedly sexier option—black lace tops with a tiny ribbon woven through.
I choose stockings as well, so I can feel Seb snap the clasps with his hands. Black again, more sheer this time, but of course lace is a must. I ponder what I need to accompany them. A simple garter belt? Or could I risk something a bit more… provocative? A corset or bustier with garters included? I’m beginning to enjoy all of the options. Better yet, I’m imagining all the ways Seb could remove them.
I grab a simple belt, but then an elegant black corset with a lace panel, wide ribbons laced at the front and ending with a bow at the bottom catches my eye. Would Seb like to untie me as well as tie me up? I’ve always loved the way corsets help to give that hourglass figure I’ve always coveted. I love how classy and elegant corsets seem, but with a naughty edge of being a hidden delight. Perfect for careful unwrapping. Slow and seductive. Ummm, Seb unwrapping me slowly and sensually, kissing my skin as he loosens the ribbon at the front, dipping to suck my nipple in his mouth.
The daydream seals the deal and I grab my size off the rack. When I look for the changing rooms, I’m distracted by a display of side-tie knickers. I finger through the plain black satin with thin ties to find my size and add them to my pile.
After stripping, sucking, tying, and swapping a few sizes around, I emerge from the changing room with arms full of lace and concede to pay for the lot. I don’t even know whether I will get a chance to show Seb all of this, but I hope so. He wanted me to come back, but how many times? How long is this going to last, to work?
My thoughts put a decidedly sour note to my otherwise enjoyable evening spree. I head for home. Shit, will Phil be home? Is he working? He can’t see any of this. Hell, I haven’t worn anything for him in years and now I’m eagerly trying corsets and side-tie knickers for Seb. My stomach rolls as anguish grips me and my heart hammers in my chest. What if Phil finds out? What will he think of me? Will he even care?
That stray thought makes me think about when Phil and I last connected, on any level, about anything. I can’t even pinpoint it. We are just two people living around each other. I want so much more out of a relationship. Do I deserve more?
The same argument that has gone through my mind the last couple of days flashes through it again. I’m married. It’s the fundamental reason I shouldn’t be doing this. This reality clashes against my need to surrender to a partner who will take charge of my desires and ensure my satisfaction. I yearn to yield to a man who will guide me into the world of submission and domination that figures so prominently in my sexual fantasies. And that man is not Phil. It’s Seb—Sebastian. And you’re back to square one again, Izzy.
Before I head back to my car, I stop in one of my favourite shoe shops. I’ve just spent a fortune on underwear, but shoes make me feel good. They are my indulgence that always makes me happier. There is a pair of black heels with a pretty gold ankle strap that I treat myself to. They would go really well with some of the lingerie.
I get back to my car and drive. Not even four-inch black heels can lift my mood. The lights of the city give way to quieter streets as I approach home. The lights are on when I get to the front of the house, so I plan my safest route—straight up the stairs to stash my naughty purchases under the bed. I push the door open and breathe a sigh of relief that the TV is on in the front room.
“Hi!” I call out as I nearly run up the stairs. I don’t hear any response, and I dive for the bed, shoving the bags under and covering them quickly with an empty rucksack. I can’t keep these here. Could I leave them in the extra room with Seb? He did say it was my room to use, and he wants me to come back. The black-and-white photos of women gracing his walls flash through my mind. It would be nice to have something of me there as a reminder. A sign, perhaps, that I’m in his life.
I go downstairs and make a cup of tea before I face Phil. My guilt is under control, for now. I put the teaspoon down on the side as my phone alerts me to a new message. As if on cue, Seb has texted to ask me about my day.
I thought you’d be finished for the day. I’m looking forward to tomorrow night. And remember, Isabel, no tights. S
I smile involuntarily and close my phone before Phil notices anything. I am very much looking forward to tomorrow, and now I have something sexy to wear—for Seb.
I check my watch as I walk across the lobby of Seb’s apartment building to call the lift. 7:12 p.m. I still have enough time to get ready before he arrives. His apartment is a lovely space. It has elegant and masculine edges to the décor, with striking contrast in textures and colours. I want to explore, curious as to what lies behind his closed cupboards. He trusts you with his apartment and you sneak around?
That naughty feeling adds to the anticipation of what is coming later tonight. I make a mental note to arrive earlier next time so I can explore.
What does he keep in his bedside drawer? What if it scares me? What if I don’t want to see? Can I invade his privacy like this? I could look at his books and music, though. There is surely no harm in that. First, I walk to the spare room, which I am trying to think of as mine, and drop my bag at the corner of the wardrobe. I sit on the bed and roll my tights down. I pause to imagine how good it would feel to have him rip them from me and tie me with them. Simply imagining the strength and power he’d have over me makes my insides turn and my stomach ache. Heat tingles in my veins. How would he punish me if I did wear my tights?
I ease into my nude thigh highs, sliding them to the top of my thighs, and pull my skirt back down. Automatically, I feel sexy, both from my choice in hosiery and my thoughts of Seb. I’m doing this at his command. I walk over to the dresser to retrieve the anklet out of its box. I take it without thinking and place it around my ankle. What will he ask of me tonight? Will I obey and submit without hesitation? Of course I will. This is all that has been playing in my mind since Tuesday.
My inexperience with BDSM makes me nervous, but I can trust Seb. There is still the que
stion of sex. I told him last time that he can cross that line. As soon as I left last time, beyond all of the guilt and confusion assaulting me, I knew I wanted to push the experience we shared, and I am going to let Seb take me as far as he wants. I tie my hair in a plait to the side. He wants my hair like this, and I liked how it sent quivers of vulnerability and desire dancing down my back when he pulled on it. With that thought, I take out my sky-high heels from my bag and slip them on. They’re a luxury of mine. Simple and elegant, you can’t beat black heels. I hope Seb likes them.
Right… Quick check in the mirror before I walk out to wait in the kitchen for him to arrive.
A bottle of Sauvignon Blanc is chilling in the fridge and two glasses are waiting on the side, as promised. I open the wine and pour two glasses, then sit on one of the bar stools in preparation. The cool, crisp liquid calms the nervous fluttering in my stomach. What is he going to do to me tonight? Challenge me to surrender further? Will he punish me if I disobey?
Before that thought has time to linger, the door opens. I turn. Seb strides confidently across the living area, bags of food in his hands and a brown leather messenger bag over his shoulder.
Jeez, he looks good and I’m wet for him already. That thought sends my entire body into a hot flush. My cheeks pink at how easily this man turns me on.
“Good evening, Isabel. ” The formality in his voice portrays him as the perfect gentlemen. I know better.
“Good evening, Sebastian. Your wine.” I hand him the glass and kiss him on those delightfully soft lips—a quick welcome only.
“Thank you. We will start with dinner this evening. There are things I would like to discuss with you.” He looks me up and down, and it sends a pulse of heat between my legs. Does he like my appearance? I can’t maintain eye contact and lower my eyes. I catch the slight twitch of his lips—a smile. “We’ll start with a light selection of breads with dipping oil, followed by stir fry. Nothing too heavy. I don’t wish you to feel too full later. Dessert will be a surprise. And you’ll be blindfolded.”
Blindfolded? I pause slightly, and my heart quickens.
“Now, if you would be so kind as to set the table in the dining area, I’ll prepare the starter.”
I watch him move into the kitchen and take that as my cue to fulfil my task. I set the table for two so we’ll be opposite each other. I sit in one of the scroll-back dining chairs to watch Seb prepare the food. The last drops from my wine glass pass my lips as Seb walks to the table with the starters. My mouth waters at the smell of warm bread. I have the choice of a number of oils and balsamic vinegar, all neatly presented with basil and other embellishments.
“So, Izzy, have you had a good day?”
I’m Izzy now. Okay then, a little conversation to calm things down. I am beginning to understand that when Seb calls me Izzy, I am the ‘friend at the bar’. When he addresses me more formally, as Isabel, I am the woman he dominates in the bedroom. “Yeah, it’s not been bad. We’ve got a few new clients recently, which is good news, and people are happy about it. More work, but the office seems good. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m busy enough. At least I had the thought of you this evening to keep me focused. Talking of which, I haven’t got any more dates in the diary beyond tonight. Do you wish to continue our arrangement?” His direct question startles me. Do I want to continue? Hell yes!
“Yes, yes, please… Haven’t we just begun?”
“Yes, although I wanted to check in with you. It’s especially important for us to have clear and honest communication. You need to be able to tell me what you are thinking, and trust that I’ll deal with those feelings appropriately. So… how did you feel about what we did the other night?” He looks at me with his blue eyes and I almost fall under his spell as the words wrap me in a protective blanket. “Well?”
Oh crap, that’s my cue!
“The other night… I felt desired, for the first time in years.” I pick a spot on the table and muster the rest of the feelings that have been plaguing me. “Your command and control gave me the trust I needed… to be vulnerable and give in to my desire to submit. You, you took my trust and rewarded me.” I raise my head and smile at Seb. “You guided me through my fantasy.” I busy myself with the bread and tear a small morsel to dip into the oil. “I know we haven’t gone very far. But I already doubt that I will be able to go back to the way things were before…” My voice trails off.
I don’t say anything more, but continue to nibble at the delicious bread and oil. Seb clears the plates and returns to refill our now empty glasses.
“Isabel, I want to discuss you and your physical needs.”
Back to Isabel. Okay.
“Alright. What… what do you mean by physical needs?”
“Before this week, when we first met here, how many times had you had an orgasm this year?”
Shit. I look down and cross my legs under the table. “I don’t keep count.” I hug myself as if to hold the pieces of my shattered composure together. My eyes find a photo on the wall and I concentrate on the image.
“A rough estimate, Isabel.”
I shift in my chair and play with the end of my plait, stroking it between my fingers soothingly. His eyes watch me intently as he waits. I drop my gaze into my lap. The silence lengthens and I clear my throat. “Probably around a dozen.”
“Probably more or probably less?”
“Probably less,” I whisper.
“Isabel, it’s October. That is, on average, one orgasm a month.”
I straighten in my chair, place my hands in my lap and face him. I raise my chin with a jerk. “I know, Sebastian. I don’t need you to remind me.”
“I think you do need me to remind you. That is not enough for a woman with your needs. Do you ever take matters into your own hands?” His voice is harsh and stern, as if he’s trying to open me up while telling me off. As hard as it is, though, I want to answer him. Did he really ask if I play with myself to get off?
“The dozen includes those times.”
“Tell me about the times when you have come.”
Details! I inwardly squirm as the heat in my cheeks burns and I think about it. Isn’t the shame of admitting that measly number enough?
“Well, at the beginning of our relationship, Phil always made sure I came, but that faded away. He only makes sure he comes now. I’ve learned to live with it.”
“The details of when you come, Isabel.” His tone is sharp, and I realise I’m not following his commands and certainly not without hesitation. I take a deep breath and find the words.
“Most of the times I’m on top. I put on a show and play with my breasts, trying to encourage him before rubbing my clit while riding him. When he doesn’t want me on top, I normally wait until he’s asleep and then go to the bathroom to finish myself off.” My eyes focus on anything other than Seb as I confess.
“Stand up, remove your knickers and sit back on the chair.”
Wait… Hold on… What? Here? Now? I try not to let my hesitation show, but before I can rein it back, my mouth opens and words spill out.
“Sebastian, the blinds are open.”
“No one can possibly see from the ground, and the window cleaner doesn’t work at eight at night. Do it, now.”
I stand. I wobble on my heels. The wine has gone to my head and the additional height isn’t helping. My hands lift the hem of my skirt and slide the material up my legs so I can hook my thumbs into the waistband of my now slightly wet lacy knickers. Peeling them over my hips, I wiggle my legs and the wisp of material falls to the floor. I attempt to retrieve them in a moderately sexy way. Seb holds his hand out across the table and I place my damp panties in his palm. Obeying Seb’s demand sends a bolt of lust straight to my core.
“Good girl. Now open your legs and place each one on the outside of the front of the chair legs. Slide your feet backwards and wrap each foot around the inside of the chair leg, then slide your skirt up so I can see you.”
I do
as I’m instructed, and in this position, my knees are forced open, wider than I would really like, and my skirt has ridden up to my waist. He’s looking right at me… down there… and I sit with my legs splayed for him, doing what he asks of me.
“You have such a cute pussy. You are going to make yourself come in front of me. Now. I want you to follow my exact instructions. If he won’t look after your needs, I’ll teach you how to do it yourself.”
Cute? I can’t keep up with him. His unpredictable demands are keeping me off balance and tense. Before I can process anything more, Seb begins his instructions.
“Stroke your upper thighs slowly with the palm of your hand and the flat of your fingers, but don’t touch your labia.” I do as he commands. “Good girl. Slowly now, keep stroking those thighs.”
Am I really doing this? Okay, so I’m enjoying this… a little bit, anyway. God, what if it were his hands?
“Now take the middle finger of your right hand and suck it into your mouth. Make it nice and wet and then slide it gently between the lips of your labia. Now, very slowly, rub your clit. Slow down. There’s no rush. This can take the next four hours if it has to.”
Four hours? No way. There is no way that I’m going to last much more than four minutes, let alone hours. I’ve not been this wet, this turned on in—
“Now stop rubbing and place your finger right on top of your clit. Good, now press down on it hard… and release. And again. Press hard then release. Good.”
Oh, I didn’t know that felt this good… Umm. I’m trying to do what I’m told, but I want to do more, move faster. My nerves are awakening.
“Now move your finger in tiny little circles around that tight bud. Slowly… Good. You can go back to rubbing again, but I want you to do it at half the speed you were.”
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