He made a soft throaty noise of approval. ‘Nice,’ he purred. ‘Very nice.’
Under my dress I was wearing a black satin corset and black seamed stockings teamed with black court shoes. Max and I had had long email exchanges about what I liked to wear and how he liked his submissive to dress. We’d exchanged dozen of photographs of outfits. Before today’s meeting Max had asked me to send him pictures of my favourite lingerie and a selection of dresses – without me in them – so that he could choose what I wore for our first real encounter.
From now on whenever we were together, he explained, he would decide what I wore. He would email me instructions and would also go through my wardrobe, and we would go shopping for anything he felt I lacked. And from now on when we were together I wasn’t to wear any underwear.
I’d stared at him. Seriously?
Max had nodded.
I hadn’t gone braless since God knows when, and I certainly had never gone knickerless. When I protested about how awful fitted clothes looked without some sort of support under them, Max conceded that with some outfits, yes, I could wear a bra, but he would decide which ones, and the only bras I could wear in his company should fasten at the front unless otherwise instructed. A submissive’s body no longer belongs to her, he said, and she should always be available for her Master. I stared at him. ‘Available?’
He nodded.
Now Max trailed a finger across my shoulders in the same way you might stroke a piece of sculpture. It was the most astonishing sensation, hard to put into words. Dressed to please, elevated to an object of pure desire and pleasure, I have never felt more female or, perversely, more powerful.
‘You look fabulous,’ Max murmured after a few moments more. ‘Put your hands behind your back.’
I did as I was told, lulled by his voice and a peculiar sense of euphoria.
Max caressed my shoulders and neck, his touch proprietorial. One hand stroked up and down my back while the other hand worked its way into the top of my corset, his long, strong fingers cupping one of my breasts. His thumb brushed across my nipple, which stiffened in response. He let out a soft sigh that made me quiver, my skin tingling, electrified by his touch. His hands were cool and almost dispassionate, caressing, squeezing, exploring and kneading.
I gasped as the intensity increased and he nipped and twisted my nipples, before folding the top of the corset down so that first one and then both breasts were exposed.
I could feel the cool air on my naked flesh and a charge of expectation. I could sense his growing excitement along with my own. All the joking and banter were over and I realized that Max wanted and needed this as much as I did. He moved so that he was standing in front of me. I felt his lips close around my nipple, sucking, nipping, biting, drawing my nipple deep into his mouth, making me gasp, the sensations coursing through me like ripples of white light.
As Max pulled away, my body clamoured for more. His lips moved to the other nipple, eagerly licking and sucking his fingers as they worked on the heavy swell of my breasts. As he pulled away, I heard a sound I didn’t immediately recognize. An instant later I felt the unexpected bite of something cold and metallic clamping tightly down onto my nipple. I shrieked in surprise and pain, trying to pull away as little teeth bit down harder, holding the clamp fast, and as I exhaled I heard the tinkle of bells.
I discovered later that they were nipple clamps with a string of tiny silver bells hanging from them.
Now every movement, every shudder and every gasp were echoed in silvery tinkling sounds. The teeth bit into my engorged nipples, sending tiny hot splinters of pain and pleasure through me.
‘Beautiful,’ Max whispered, stroking the bells’ strings, making me gasp.
Max and I had talked a lot about what I liked sexually, areas I wanted to explore, things that were a definite no-no and represented a deal breaker – the hard limits beyond which I wouldn’t go – and those things that I might like to try once my confidence had grown. I’d told him things I had never told anyone else. I’d just signed off on it, hadn’t I? We’d definitely talked about the fact I didn’t want to be tied up until I knew Max better, so I didn’t think twice when something cool and smooth clicked onto one wrist, although I had a blinding flash of revelation as the second cuff snapped home.
I gasped and opened my mouth to protest. Bugger the no talking rule.
‘What the hell do you think you are you doing?’ I gasped, little bells tinkling furiously. I struggled to free my hands, even though I knew it was pointless.
‘That’s what the hell do you think you’re doing, Sir,’ said Max. ‘You said no ropes. And now I’m going to have to punish you for talking without permission too.’
I was stunned. Semantics: Max had got me handcuffed and helpless with semantics. There was some part of me that loved the fact that he had outwitted me and another part that was furious. Not much of me was anxious.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ Max asked, serious now. ‘If you’re not happy I can always take them off.’
I found it hard to speak.
‘Are you OK?’ he repeated, seeking an answer. ‘I’m not going on until you tell me.’
‘Yes, I’m fine, just bloody annoyed,’ I snapped, after a second or two, and added more haltingly, ‘Sir.’
Max laughed. ‘Pleased to hear it,’ he said, ‘and I’m glad to see you’re getting to grips with the Sir thing.’ As he spoke he traced the line of my jaw with a finger.
Despite the trick, I felt more excited than I had in years. I also had no doubt that had I asked Max he would have taken the cuffs off. I couldn’t have gone this far if I didn’t have an underlying trust in him and feel inherently safe. No one else can make that call for you. I trusted him.
‘Are you ready?’ he said.
Ready for what? ‘I think so, yes – Sir,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Max said, and I could hear the warmth and approval in his voice. He led me across the room and had me stand while he settled himself on a chair. He stroked me gently until I was completely still and those little bells finally stopped ringing.
‘I’m going to put you across my knee and then I’m going to spank you. But before I do, I want you to ask me to do it,’ he said.
I froze. ‘I have to ask?’ I said incredulously.
Max laughed. ‘Yes, and you’ve broken the no talking rule again – and not calling me Sir. You’re only supposed to speak when you’re spoken to, and only answer the question you’ve been asked.’
‘I’m going to find that hard.’
‘Really?’ he said, with mock surprise. ‘Now ask me.’
I’d never found it particularly easy to ask for what I wanted sexually. Had I told him that? I tried to remember. Ask? In my fantasies all this happened without a word being spoken.
‘Well?’ pressed Max.
‘I want you to spank me.’
‘Want?’ There was more than a hint of rebuke; submissives can’t demand anything. ‘Ask nicely, Sarah.’
It was the kind of thing adults said to small children and said in almost exactly the same tone. A little charge of humiliation stoked the fire of desire.
‘Please will you spank me?’
‘Better, but not quite good enough. Sir,’ added Max. ‘Ask me again, properly this time.’