It’s not Story of O, i remind myself. You’re not getting dropped off at the door, stripped of underwear, handed over to people who will take your clothes away. You’ve already gotten yourself waxed, pussy, legs and underarms are all hair free zones. All you have to do is check into your hotel, get ready, and go over to the – to the place. The club.
i review my clothes. Leggings. Push up bra. And a top with a bit of cleavage that almost makes me look like i’m not fat. Oh, underwear that matches the bra. Check. I’ve got all of that. Shoes are a problem, i just can’t do heels anymore. A little ballet slipper type will have to do.
My heart is pounding just thinking about this. i must be out of my mind. A stranger. On the internet. At a BDSM club. Who would believe it? At 61, you’d think I’d know better. Oh my goodness, this is ridiculous – what am i thinking?
I’m feeling quite prudent as i semi-scold myself, and then I giggle – that’s such a pretense. I’ve done much wilder things and don’t regret a minute of it. As long as El doesn’t turn out to be an ax murderer, i’ll be fine.
I’m feeling pretty nonchalant as i pull into the parking garage of the hotel, as if i make arrangements to play at a BDSM club all the time, until i hear the buzz of my phone. Glancing down, i see it’s El.
When you get to your room take off your clothes. Then text me.
My heart’s fluttery, butterflies in my stomach – ok. i can do this. i text him back
His response is so quick i think he must have had it ready.
Olivia. Starting now, you can call me Sir.
i feel a shift in my body. It’s beginning to feel real. i’m going to let this man spank me. Maybe blindfold me. Play with me. i get a flash of an image, my pants down, bent over…
I realize i’m standing still beside my car, looking at my phone. i text back quickly
And his response is so predictable, i should have laughed, but instead, i smile and feel a little glow of warmth. His text says