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Even with the blindfold on I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was Max. There was no mistaking him. It couldn’t be anyone else. I recognised the way he moved around me, the sound of his breathing and the scent of his aftershave – a subtle blend of sandalwood and musk that was so familiar it made my mouth water.
I knew him so well that I could practically feel him, and I knew that, whatever happened, with Max there I would be safe and that we would have a good time. More than a good time – we’d have a great time.
I smiled. My sense of relief was mixed with anticipation and an unexpected ache in my heart. Up until that moment I hadn’t realised just how much I had missed him. It had been too long.
He moved in closer and whispered my name, tracing my lips with a single finger. The sound of his voice brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to say something to him, but I knew the rules. Submissives only speak when they are spoken to or given permission to speak. Whispering my name was no permission at all.
A cool breeze made me shiver. Behind the blindfold I closed my eyes and drank in Max’s touch. He was an expert when it came to knowing how and where to touch me. My pulse quickened as his fingers moved on, stroking my jaw, outlining the curve of my ear, sliding up into my hair. At first it was just the lightest of touches, so delicate that it made my skin tingle, but I knew Max. There would be more. There was always more with Max. His particular gift was the way he could combine pain with pleasure and still have me begging for more. His fingers tightened, twisting my hair into a firm knot, making me gasp as he pulled me close up against him.
‘I’ve missed you, Sarah,’ he murmured.
I could feel his breath on my skin and the heat of his body as he cupped my breast with his other hand, caressing the nipple that hardened under his touch, his long nimble fingers teasing and pinching it, making me moan with pleasure and increasing my anticipation of what might follow. My whole body was responding to him, coming alive under his caress. I could feel the desire rising from somewhere deep inside me. I wanted Max so much – it felt like forever since we had been together. I moaned softly, letting go, surrendering to him.
Max murmured his approval and whispered words of endearment as his hand moved lower, down over my ribs, brushing my hips and moving down across my stomach, working its way down over the rise of my sex and sliding unhindered between my legs.
God, this was wonderful. I threw back my head and gasped as he stroked me, his touch at its most tender and knowing, caressing me, making me writhe with pure pleasure. It was the sweetest torture as he explored the soft folds of my sex. I let out a little sob of pleasure as his fingertips finally found my clitoris.
As his fingers found their rhythm I leaned against him, relishing the sensation of his strong muscular body, moaning with sheer delight, feeling every caress, every knowing touch, feeling the pleasure intensify, building and building, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. Finally I cried out and, unable to hold back and breaking all the rules, called out his name.
Even before the sound was out I was instantly awake, torn from sleep, denied the impending climax. I found myself sitting bolt upright in bed, cold and shocked and trembling like a leaf. I looked round, trying to get my bearings. The room was empty, the only light came from the street lamp across the road, throwing a jaundiced yellow stripe across the bedroom floor.
The images and sensations had been so vivid that for a moment I couldn’t believe I’d imagined them. I felt like I’d been robbed and reached out in the darkness, a part of me still convinced that Max might be there somewhere, despite knowing that I had only dreamed him. Unsurprisingly, all that was there was darkness, the only sound the tick-tick-tick of my bedroom clock. I stretched out further, feeling my way across the bed, but it was cold and empty.
I lay there for a while thinking about him and trying to get back to sleep, snuggling down under the duvet, trying to relax, but it was impossible. The harder I tried the more awake I felt. Eventually I gave up, switched on the bedside lamp, pulled on a robe and went downstairs to make some tea and try to clear my head.
Max and I had split up months ago, but this was the first time since then that I had dreamed about him and certainly the first time I’d ever been so aroused while sleeping. I could still feel the dull ache of unsatisfied longing, still there, low down in my belly.
I’m a writer, and alongside romantic novels I’ve written erotic fiction for years, including lots about BDSM (bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism), but after a lifetime of fantasy it had been Max who had finally taken me by the hand and introduced me to the real-life delights of being a submissive. My relationship with Max had been a steep learning curve. He was a Dom (BDSM shorthand for the dominant partner) and under his guidance I had finally found a safe place to explore the submissive fantasies that had haunted me all my adult life.
I’d spent half a lifetime thinking about and then finally writing about the world of BDSM without so much as stepping over the threshold – until I met Max, that is. Fresh out of a marriage, I had decided that it was now or never and had put an ad on a BDSM website. Over the course of several weeks I’d met lots of men who were keen to help me explore my sexually submissive ideas, but in the end it was Max I chose as my first ever real-life Master, and, even though our relationship was over and had been for months,