This is a true story.

Once upon a time, about 2004, i was still in my late 40s and just beginning to get interested in the real world of kink.  i was newly aware that a whole bunch of people were doing things that would thrill and delight me and didn’t end up with me naked and chained to the wall in a basement somewhere.

There was a man named Michael – well actually there were two of them, one went by Mike and I’ve written about him before. The other was Michael, and I don’t think about him as often.  But ‘nilla’s story here reminded me and I thought I’d tell the story of what was maybe my first introduction to BDSM.  First in real life, that is.

I met Michael on the phone line – I don’t guess they have those anymore, but back in the early 2000’s you could set up a little intro message on this phone line.  People would listen to each other’s messages and if you weren’t interested, you hit “3” and moved to another message, but if you were interested you hit “1” and could leave a message for them.   That’s actually how i met my second husband, but that’s a story for a different day – or maybe never.  Anyhow, you left a message, and sometimes they messaged you back and sometimes they didn’t.

So Michael’s intro message said something like, “Hi, this is Michael – and there was a pause – just for a moment – and then “All. Tied. Up.  And that’s what I like to do, tie ladies up and please them…” and i don’t remember the rest of it, but his voice was like silk and i was totally fascinated.

So we chatted.  We chatted on the phone and he casually talked about bondage – rope – and crops and cuffs and all kinds of things that made me wet and wetter.  He would tell me to touch myself, tell me how to do it, and then, just as I was about to cum, he’d say, “Stop.”  I’d whimper and he’d say it again, in his most commanding voice.   “Stop. Stop touching yourself NOW.  No more touching.”

So i would – i’d stop touching myself, delighted with how wet it made me and how it thrilled my little submissive soul.

He took his time asking me out, waiting me out in the way that dominant men have.  By the time he invited me to meet him for a drink, i was dying to meet him.  i wanted to experience all the things he talked about – so much.

We met at a bar, in a suburban strip mall.  I had a glass of Chardonnay, i’m sure.  He had a coke, explaining that he didn’t drink if he was going to play.   He was nice enough looking, an ordinary looking middle aged man with dark hair and a slightly receding hairline.  Slim, with blue eyes, and a nice smile.

We chatted, and soon i began to wish he’d quit talking about mundane things and talk about ropes and whips and all the kinky things instead.  i begin to wish he’d touch me instead of chatting nicely about movies and his job.   Yes, this is who i am, and i was a little bit appalled at myself, but you know.  What submissive girl wouldn’t revel in the idea of being introduced to these pleasures that she’d only dreamed of?

Eventually – but not until i was dying for something to happen – he said, “Did you want to play a little bit tonight?”  i thought i was going to explode right there, of excitement and anxiety and so much want-to and just a little bit of better-not. But i kept my cool (a little bit anyhow) and i said, “Play?” in an appropriately coy and curious voice.

“Yeah,” he said,  and went on to explain that we could go to a hotel, or just go to the car.  He assured me he wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want but he had some toys he could show me, if I wanted to.  No pressure.  We could wait til the next time we saw each other, or we didn’t have to do anything ever.

“Oh, um, yes,” i did want to play a little bit, but maybe better not go to a hotel.  So we went to his van.  Just the front seat, not even the back of the van, parked in the darkness on the side of strip mall.

There are lots of things i don’t remember from that night, but there are a few that i remember as vividly as yesterday.  My breasts exposed, as he flicked my nipples, lightly, with the tip of a crop.  Really, just seeing the crop threw me into some kind of major submissive ecstasy .  He stroked the inside of my thighs with it, JUST LIKE Story of O!

Ok, maybe not “just like.” But it seemed really close!

i can remember how he looked, how i watched him, fascinated, as he toyed with me.  Watching him watching me.  Getting wetter.  And wetter.  My face flushing, breathing erratic.  Moans and whimpers.  Oh, my.

i don’t remember ever being played with like that before.  You know, i’d been married and divorced already, and was a child of the early 70s and the sexual revolution.  I had some experience.  But most of it was men greedy and in a hurry, trying to hustle me through the preliminaries so they could fuck me.  This was a man in control of himself, in control of me.

He caressed me with the flogger.  Made me ask permission before i was allowed to touch his cock, hard and throbbing.  Stroked me, petted me – oh, it was lovely.

Time passed – i didn’t want it to end, ever – but eventually, he told me it was time to stop, late, time to go home.  i sighed, i whimpered.  “When you get home,” he said, “you’re going to still be really wet, really hot.”

i nodded, still snuggled up near him, yes, yes i would.  “And you’re going to want to play with yourself, you’re going to want to cum.” i nodded, yes, definitely, i would.  i could barely wait.

“No,” he said, pulling back from me.  “NO playing with yourself when you get home.  NO touching yourself.  Is that clear?”

I was shocked – like he’d thrown cold water all over me, but i recovered quickly.  “Yessss, yes, that’s clear.”

“Wait until I call you,” he said.  “I’ll call you tonight, when I call, I’ll let you cum.   But not before then.”

Quickly, i acquiesced and got what was not the first “good girl” of the evening.  Sighing, smiling to myself, thrilled, i drove myself home carefully, throbbing and wet.

i got ready for bed, clutching the phone to me.  Hot and wet and frustrated, waiting for his call.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Finally, i broke down and called him.  i could NOT believe he was doing this to me.  He’d said he’d call.  Seriously!!  He needed to call!

No answer.  So I waited some more.

Eventually, i resigned myself to the inevitable.  He was not going to call.  Bastard.

i cried.  How could he do this to me?

i felt abandoned and betrayed.

i know, that was silly.  But BDSM pulls on those demons, all those anxieties that live deep inside us.  It pulls them up into the light of day, whether we want it to or not.

The next day he called – and he laughed at my frustration.  Laughed.  He said, “When i saw you were calling me, i knew i had you.”

That outraged me more than I can possibly tell you.  After all his frigging talk about trust – bullshit!!  i didn’t say it to him, but i thought, “Fuck you, and fuck your ” I knew I had you…”  You’ll never have me.”

We stayed in touch, more or less, for a long time, while other relationships started and ended for both of us.  He was mostly a nice guy, just not actually my nice guy.  We almost played several times after that, and he bought me a vibrator – it was blue, kind of medium sized, and had a clit stimulator too, which was the kind of thing i didn’t even know existed.   He had been shocked that I didn’t already have one.  i said i was too freaked out to go to an adult store myself.  So he came to my work, took me out for lunch one day and gave it to me, which was just super sweet.

There’s not an actual point or moral to the story, unless you want to make one up for me.  But ‘nilla’s story – chapter 11, where our heroine is left to simmer in her own juices overnight, made me think of it.