Beyond the vast lobby and the first-floor landing the hotel was a complete rabbit warren. Within moments of getting upstairs I was not only lost, but totally disorientated – all the busy sounds from the reception area were completely deadened by miles of flock wallpaper and deep-pile carpets and the hallways were long, silent and stately. The walls were hung with magnificent paintings, there were fabulous flower arrangements and statuary in niches all along the walls and antique furniture that looked as if it had been there forever.
‘This way, sir, madam,’ said our guide, as after what seemed like a long hike he finally opened the doors to our room. The suite was in one corner of the hotel in a turret, with mullioned windows that overlooked a carefully manicured knot garden. There was a Jack and Jill bathroom between the two large airy bedrooms. The main room had a huge four-poster bed and antique furniture, while the smaller room had a queen-sized bed and looked like a typical boutique hotel room with cushions and throws and contemporary art. Both rooms were stylish and luxurious enough to pull off the contrast.
As the man deposited our bags, Alex looked long and hard at the four-poster, and then at me, and raised his eyebrows in unspoken invitation as we both took in the very thing that had first sparked his fantasies. The porter left with a healthy tip.
‘Let’s start nice and slowly,’ Alex said, as soon as the doors were closed and we were alone. ‘Take off your clothes.’
‘That counts as slowly, does it?’ I said with amusement.
‘Does it, Sir,’ said Alex.
I laughed again; this was horribly familiar territory for me. I’m not good at remembering to call anyone Sir, and Max had taken great pleasure in punishing me every time I forgot.
‘And while we’re playing you will only speak when spoken to. Do you understand?’ Alex asked.
Only too well. I nodded.
‘Now, undress for me.’
Alex settled himself down into one of the leather armchairs in the bay window of the turret. His expression was fixed and neutral. He was waiting to see what I would do and I knew in some ways that this was the first test. The room was totally silent now except for the tick-tick-tick of a long-case clock that was standing against one wall. It seemed like time slowed as I lifted my fingers to the buttons of my jacket.
I am not by nature any kind of exhibitionist; the idea of undressing in front of someone I barely know comes with all kinds of fears and anxieties, and the added frisson of embarrassment and self-consciousness in many ways adds to the intensity of the moment. Submission is about embracing all those feelings and letting them feed your arousal. I was trembling, excited, anxious – awash with a whole raft of adrenaline-fuelled emotions as I let my jacket drop to the floor. Under the jacket I was wearing a fitted floral dress that buttoned all the way down the front. The buttons were tiny, and under Alex’s penetrating gaze my fingers seemed too big, too clumsy to deal with them. One by one they gave way. I could feel him watching me, watching my progress, button by button, until finally the dress fell open.
As I slipped it back off my shoulders I heard the breath catch in his throat. I knew without a doubt that I had every molecule of his attention. I smiled inwardly; Max had been the first one to point out to me that in reality it was often the sub who wielded the most power. Alex was just as hooked on this moment as I was. Under my dress I was wearing a black lacy bra, matching knickers and stockings and suspenders, along with black court shoes. I let the dress drop to the floor.
‘God, you are lovely,’ Alex murmured, getting to his feet. I felt myself blush. ‘Turn around for me. I want to look at you,’ he continued.
I did as I was told. He walked around me as I turned, his eyes working their way hungrily over my body, inspecting me, taking in every inch of me. His gaze was as exciting and invasive as any caress. His attention, his obvious desire and pleasure were intoxicating.
‘Very nice,’ he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. ‘Now take off your bra.’
I fumbled with the catch. Alex waited. As it gave way I slipped off the shoulder straps, instinctively holding the flimsy fabric in place in front of my body, a nod towards modesty.
‘Here,’ he said, holding out his hand towards me. ‘I want to look at your breasts. I want to look at all of you.’
I dropped the bra into his open palm while I covered my breasts with my forearm.
‘Put your hands on top of your head.’ He spoke with a quiet assurance. This was an order, not a request. I did as he told me. My nipples hardened in the cool air. Alex smiled. ‘Wonderful. You are exquisite. This is going to be so much fun, Sarah. I’ve been thinking about this moment since I met you. Come here.’
He beckoned me over. ‘You are beautiful,’ he murmured.
I am neither exquisite nor beautiful, but it seems to me that men are so much less critical than we women and see so much more in us than we do in ourselves. They see beauty and loveliness where we only see lumps and bumps and cellulite.
I stepped towards him and he cupped my breasts, his thumbs working back and forth across the hard, dark buds of my nipples. He bent down and took first one and then the other into his mouth, sucking gently. I closed my eyes, my body soaking up the sensations. I groaned softly. I heard him chuckle as he pulled away.
‘Seems like I’m not the only one who needs this,’ he said.
I opened my eyes. He was so close that I could see the stubble on the side of his face where he hadn’t quite caught it with the razor and smell the soft scent of his body and hair. He made my mouth water.
‘Are you okay?’ He whispered, tipping my face up towards him.
I nodded.
‘Tell me,’ he said.
I smiled. ‘I’m fine. Nervous, excited, but fine.’
‘Good. Because I want you to enjoy every second of this. I’m going to beat you and then I am going to fuck you,’ he said, in an undertone. ‘And I need to know that that is what you want. Is that what you want, Sarah?’
I stared at him. ‘We haven’t got a safe word,’ I began.
‘“Whitby”. If you want me to stop say “Whitby”. Now tell me that you want me to beat you.’
Our eyes met. It was the moment when we both stepped from what might be considered acceptable into the realms of otherness that BDSM occupies. Before I had given him my answer Alex stepped away from me and unfastened one of the cases that the porter had set down on an ottoman at the end of the bed. He took out a riding crop.
I watched him, hypnotised, entranced, torn between how much I longed to feel the sensations and the rush of endorphins that I knew followed the bite of the crop as it hit home and knowing just how much being cropped hurt.
Alex flexed the plaited leather shaft, his eyes not leaving mine as he did it. The crop was new, unyielding. I swallowed hard.
‘I need you to tell me that this is what you want, Sarah, or we don’t go any further. And if that is the case, it’s fine, but I need to know. What do you want?’
I had been here before with Max. My throat was dry, the words wouldn’t come.
Alex waited. ‘Well?’ he said quietly. ‘What do you say?’
‘Yes, please,’ I murmured, ever polite.
He smiled. ‘Good. Get hold of the arms of the chair and bend over.’
I stepped towards the chair, taking a deep breath, preparing myself for what was to come.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Take off your knickers.’
With my back to him, I slipped them down over my hips and let them fall to the floor, imagining the view of my lily-white bum framed by black suspenders and the tops of my stockings.
‘Very