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So it seemed a good choice. We could take a look around inside the cathedral and talk in relative privacy. There were a couple of good restaurants and some nice cafés all within easy walking distance. Being a staunch atheist, Max thought the cathedral was a great idea.
At this point I was feeling good, a bit nervous maybe, a little bit excited, but in a good way, and certainly in control. Then Max sent me another email and the balance of power began to subtly shift:
Dear Sarah
It was good to speak this evening and I’m delighted that we are finally going to meet. In future if we continue with our liaison you will call me Sir unless given permission to do otherwise. In the hearing of other people you may call me Max.
When we meet you will wear a white blouse, loose-fitting dark skirt and high-heeled shoes.
You will also wear clean white underwear and black stockings. You may choose whether to wear a suspender belt or not; if you make the wrong choice you will be punished.
You may wear a suitable coat.
You will measure the size of your neck and wrists and let me know the measurements so that I can have a collar and cuffs made for you.
You may be physically examined to see if you complied exactly with my instructions.
Oh yes, I nearly forgot: I’m really looking forward to meeting you at last. See you next week.
With kind regards
Max
As I read and I re-read his email, I was torn between thinking just who the hell does he think he is and being really excited. Finally, this was my chance to try this stuff for real, while another part of me – some people would probably say the saner, more sensible part of me – was extremely nervous. Was this really what I wanted? Physically examined? Was he mad?
There was still time to back out. Meeting him didn’t imply any kind of commitment, I reminded myself. I’d met enough men on straight dating sites and walked away without a second thought to know that it was no big thing, and in essence at least this was no different, but that wasn’t how it felt at all.
I barely slept. The next morning I re-read the email and emailed back. What I didn’t do was comment on any of Max’s conditions or agree to them. I needed to take this one step at a time.
… I’m excited about the whole idea; the combination of imagining and apprehension and excitement is a heady one. I am also very nervous about meeting up and moving this from a fantasy towards a reality, but would very much like to try. You do know that I’m just as likely to run a mile, don’t you?
His reply excited me even more:
One of the joys of being a submissive is the anticipation of things to come, the emotion produced by fear of the unknown. I will always try and describe what will happen to you before doing it. This way you will experience double the pleasure, first in your imagination and then in reality. See you soon.
Max
So this was it. Finally. I switched off my computer and went back downstairs. It felt as though I was teetering on the brink of something huge.
Chapter Four
‘There is no fulfilment that is not made sweeter for the prolonging of desire.’
Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel’s Dart
I was early. For some reason the outer doors into the cathedral porch were locked when I got there. It was pouring with rain, and my feet – crammed into high heels that I’d only ever worn once, for two hours, to a friend’s wedding – were wet and cold and hurt like hell. On the walk up from the car park a freak gust of wind had turned my umbrella inside out and wrecked it, and I wasn’t altogether sure exactly how waterproof my coat was. This was not at all how I’d imagined my first meeting with Max. I was nervous enough without going from coiffured to quagmire in the space of a short walk.
Having wandered up and down the street a few times, I finally managed to find some shelter from the rain, but not from the biting wind, although at least I had a view of the main doors.
My feet ached and I could feel my carefully constructed appearance rapidly dissolving – hair, make-up, composure: going, going, gone. A party of Asian tourists trekked past me with their guide. Wide eyed and curious, wrapped up in colourful cagoules and peculiar hats, they nodded and smiled in my direction, holding up umbrellas over their cameras to take pictures of me sheltering, wet and dripping, under one of the stone arches. Maybe they thought I was performance art.
The minutes ticked by. I was getting more anxious with every passing second. I glanced down at my watch. Max and I had agreed to meet at 11.00 a.m. As I said, I’d arrived early – I’m always early. It was almost ten past. I found myself peering into the faces of strangers under umbrellas as they scuttled by. I have a problem with people who are late.
Maybe Max wasn’t going to show up after all, maybe he had just been stringing me along, maybe he was just a fantasist: my brain cheerily offered all kinds of explanations for his tardiness, each darker than the previous one. With a growing sense of disappointment, I considered my options. Up until that point I hadn’t realized exactly how high my expectations had been.
If it had been sunny I probably wouldn’t have minded waiting around a little longer, but I’d had enough. Another two minutes and if he hadn’t shown up I’d head off for lunch on my own, a little older, wiser and considerably wetter. Maybe my hopes were too high, but I was deeply disappointed that Max had stood me up. During our email exchanges and telephone conversations he had seemed genuine and genuinely interested. I was just turning to leave when someone touched me on the shoulder.
‘Off somewhere? You look like you could use a coffee,’ said a familiar voice.
I glanced round and looked into a pair of amused blue eyes ‘Max?’
He grinned from under the shelter of a large black umbrella. He was slightly out of breath. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. I got caught up in an accident on the ring road,’ he said. ‘Did you get my text?’
I shook my head. Why in heaven’s name hadn’t it occurred to me to check my phone? How stupid was that?
‘Are you OK?’
I nodded.
‘Good.’ Still smiling, he reached out and brushed a stray, very damp strand of hair off my face. ‘Come on. There’s a café just round the corner. Let’s go and get warmed up.’ With that he took my arm and we made our way out of the cathedral precincts and across the road. ‘You look like you need towelling off. We could find a shop –’
I shook my head. ‘No, it’s OK. I’ll be fine, really.’
‘You’re sure?’
It felt easy and very natural. I felt comfortable with Max from the moment we met and there was definitely a crackle of mutual attraction – the chemistry thing, that thing I’d been looking for unsuccessfully on straight dates. I smiled.
He grinned at me. ‘Good to meet you at long last,’ he said.
We hurried across the road, huddling together under his umbrella. Max opened the café door for me, found a table and, when the waitress arrived, ordered for both of us, which I found a bit unsettling.
‘Is that a Dom thing? What if I don’t like what you’ve ordered?’ I said in an undertone as the girl left.
‘But you do,’ he said.
‘You can’t know that.’
‘Trust me.’
‘I could be gluten intolerant.’
‘And are you?’ he asked, his expression amused.
‘No.’
‘Well, in that case you’ll be able to enjoy your cake, won’t you?’
I didn’t say anything; I just raised my eyebrows. After a second or two Max held up his hands in surrender. ‘OK. It was easy. When you came in, the first thing you did was look in the cake cabinet, and I noticed the cakes your eyes lingered on.’
I laughed. ‘Lingered on?’
His smile widened. ‘Well, OK – lusted after. It’s OK, I really like a woman with a healthy appetite. And every time we’ve spoken on the phone, at some point during the conversation you’ve mentioned needing a cup of tea.’
Was I that obvious? And was it that simple? I really hoped not. I didn’t want the Dom/sub relationship to be some trick or sleight of hand.
A few minutes later the waitress reappeared with our order: a pot of Earl Grey for him and good old builders’ tea for me. Alongside it on the tray was a slice of lemon drizzle cake.
Max raised his eyebrows in a silent question. He was right. He’d ordered my favourite cake, although I wasn’t about to tell him that. He laughed as he poured tea for us both.
‘Come on, eat up and stop bristling,’ he said. ‘Would you prefer to stay here and talk or shall we go for a walk? It looks like the rain is easing up and there’s a really nice little restaurant which a friend recommended in the lanes.’
‘In these shoes?’ I said ruefully. ‘Isn’t there any chance I can be kinky in flats?’
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’m sure I saw a shoe shop round the corner. We’ll go there first, if you like. I prefer any pain I inflict to be deliberate rather than accidental.’
I looked at him and smiled. ‘It’s fine. I’ve got spare shoes in my bag,’ I said.
‘OK, in that case we’ll walk, then, shall we?’
I nodded.
Max was very upright, with broad shoulders, and his demeanour was slightly stiffer than I’d expected from talking to him on the phone, although there was no mistaking the mischief in his eyes. There was a slightly leonine quality about him – he wore his hair swept back off his face, he was heavily set, with a web of laughter lines picking out large blue eyes. While we were in the café I noticed his hands, which were large and very still, something I noticed particularly because I gesticulate all the time and find it almost impossible to talk without moving my hands. He wasn’t handsome in any traditional sense but his features were strong, even and nicely made, and it was obvious from the way he moved that he looked after himself and worked out.
We settled into easy conversation. We talked about our journeys, my job, his trip to Europe, the weather, my choice of footwear, the tourists, the cake – all very comfortable and conversational, but it was impossible to ignore the undercurrent of expectation that was beginning to build up between us.
‘So,’ he said, ‘have you done as I asked?’
I stared at him; the words made my heart flutter. I nodded.
‘Is that a yes?’ he pressed.
‘Yes,’ I said, not quite meeting his eyes; God, this felt so tricky. I was aware that this was the moment of transition when potentially it all finally began to become real.
‘Good. You understand that if we continue with this arrangement you will call me Sir, but not today. Today you can call me Max, but if we take this further it is one of the few things that are non-negotiable. Do you understand?’
I nodded.
‘And I want you to answer me with a word, not a gesture, from now on. So, are you wearing stockings and suspenders or did you decide on hold-ups?’ he asked.
I was wearing stockings and suspenders, not wanting to risk the possibility that the hold-ups wouldn’t.
Max raised his eyebrows. ‘Well?’ he said.
‘Stockings and suspenders,’ I said, glancing around to see who might have overheard our conversation, feeling my colour rise. ‘I’m finding this hard. I’ve never done anything like this before.’
‘I know,’ he said, and then he took an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table towards me. ‘Do you remember what I said?’
How could I possibly forget? I’d read and re-read the email so many times that I could practically recite it in my sleep. I stared down at the envelope, deciding to play dumb.
‘Let me refresh your memory, Sarah. If you make the wrong choice, then you will be punished.’
‘And if I make the right choice?’
‘If you make the right choice, then you will be rewarded.’ His expression was neutral but I could see the amusement in his eyes. ‘Why don’t you open it while I try and attract our waitress’s attention?’
I picked the envelope up, peeled it open and took out the card inside. Glancing down, I read the words neatly written in block capitals across the centre. I could feel Max watching me.
According to the card I should have been wearing hold-ups and my punishment for not doing so was to be spanked. Soon. At a time and place of my choosing.
I looked across into Max’s face and from him up into the face of the waitress, who was standing by the table holding a pen and pad.
Max was smiling, triumphant. ‘More tea?’ he asked.
Chapter Five
‘Sex is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other.’
Marquis de Sade
Max and I spent the afternoon together. We ate lunch. We walked round the castle. We explored the shops. We talked and talked and talked, and at no time did Max mention the card or my punishment. As he walked me back to my car he shook my hand and kissed me on the cheek.
‘Call me when and if you’re ready,’ he said as a final farewell.
As I watched him walking away, I wondered exactly what I’d started. Was I ready? It felt as if this was one of those now-or-never moments. Taking a deep breath, I took the phone out of my bag and scrolled down to his number. He was still so close that I could hear the phone when it started ringing. I saw him pull the phone out of his pocket, saw him look at the caller display, saw him smile as he turned back to look at me.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Fancy it being you.’
A week later and Max was wearing much the same expression as he pulled a mask down over my eyes. The mask was nothing threatening, a black, silky little number, not dissimilar to the kind of thing they hand out free on airlines.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, as the lights went out.
I nodded.
‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Sarah. From now on you have to say “Yes, Sir.” Or come to that, “No, Sir.”’
Have to? I pulled a face – preposterous. But this was supposed to be me being punished, and earlier we had signed a contract, designed to protect us both, and yes, I had signed up to calling him Sir.
‘I’m waiting,’ he said. His tone was unmistakably crisper.
‘Yes, Sir,’ I mumbled. It felt ridiculous and made me feel stupidly self-conscious. Today was the day when I was supposed to be receiving my punishment for not wearing hold-ups, and in a perverse way, my reward – for being bad by some contrived set of fantasy rules that we had set in motion.
‘Very good,’ Max said. ‘It will get easier, I promise you, until in the end it’ll be second nature.’
I very much doubted that. I stood still – possibly the stillest I’ve ever been in adulthood – blindfolded, wondering what would come next.
‘So here we are at last,’ murmured Max.
He wasn’t alone in feeling that way and I wondered if he had any idea just how much I had agonized – once the giddiness of our first face-to-face meeting had evaporated – about whether to meet him again or just ring and call the whole thing off. I also wasn’t altogether sure how I felt about being punished for a made-up crime. I was heading into completely uncharted water here.
Since we had met for lunch Max and I had spoken every night on the phone.
I had no questions left – only a decision. He had sent me a contract the evening after our first meeting so that I might have a better idea of what to expect if I took it to the next stage. He had also mailed me a long list of book and film titles and links to websites, so that I could find out more about the reality of the lifestyle. But, as he said, he couldn’t make that final decision for me; nor would he attempt to coerce or force me into making it. I was always free to change my mind. If I was unsure about taking the next step it was better to walk away and take more time to think about it than to commit to something I was uncomfortable with – and it would be a commitment.
He was keen to impress on me that for him BDSM was not a joke. If I didn’t want to abide by the rules that was fine, but then he wasn’t the Dom for me. He also pointed out that once I had taken the step there was no going back. You couldn’t unknow something – and it had the potential to change my life and the way I looked at relationships for ever.
So not exactly a lightweight thing, then, I’d joked. This wasn’t quite what I’d imagined when I’d fantasized about being tied up and spanked.
For once Max didn’t laugh. ‘No, that’s true. It changes you,’ he said. ‘You need to bear that in mind before you go any further. And yes, it’s a game and in some ways it’s just role play, but getting involved in BDSM is not without consequences, and the effects and the pay-off are real.’
The contract itself had come as no great surprise. Contracts are common currency and typical for people involved in a BDSM relationship in fiction. I’d written them myself for several books, and the ones I had drawn up for my novels had been a good deal more extreme and a lot pervier. The difference, of course, was that this one wasn’t a work of fiction for some long-limbed, doe-eyed virgin. It was about me.
CONTRACT
On this _th day of __________, 20 ___, I, ___________, hereafter referred to as the submissive, offer myself to Max _________, hereafter known as her Master, for His pleasure in a BDSM relationship defined in detail as follows.
The submissive understands that her Master is a strict Dominant, and that she is a willing submissive masochist to be used for His pleasure. The submissive expects and longs for the Domination of her Master and is willing to endure any punishments deemed appropriate by her Master. The submissive hereby grants permission to her Master to inflict any punishment that He may deem appropriate to the submissive totally for His enjoyment and the pleasure.
The submissive will refer to her Master as ‘Sir’ at all times when they are together, unless instructed to do otherwise.
The submissive will not speak until spoken to or given express permission to speak and will be respectful in her conversation and comments.
The submissive will be under her Master’s complete and total control and will immediately obey and comply with any order or instruction given to her with the full joy of knowing she is His property and His to use however He chooses.
If the submissive displeases or disobeys her Master in any way she expects to be punished in any way He so chooses, as necessary for her inappropriate actions.
The submissive also agrees not to make any change in her physical appearance without the prior approval of her Master.
The submissive agrees to full participation in any and all activities her Master desires as she does not know the extent of her limits with Him at this point and desires to learn how complete is her submission. These activities may include but not be confined to:
Bondage of short or long duration
Pain threshold
Nipple and other clamps
The use of toys
The use of any safe stimulation chosen by her Master
Any and all sexual activities that her Master may wish to partake in, which involve the total use of the submissive for His physical pleasure
In return for her complete compliance and obedience the submissive expects the following:
The right to use safe words or signals if she finds the play to go past her as yet unknown limits
That her Master and the submissive will have open and honest communication with each other so that she may learn her limits
The knowledge that her Master may reward her for good behaviour and compliance
Her Master will practise safe sex
Her Master will be responsible for the submissive’s safety during all play and ensure that no permanent harm or damage will befall her
Name:
Signed:
Safe words:
We had talked about a sex clause. Despite fancying Max and feeling an unmistakable chemistry between us, I wanted to wait a little while until we knew each other better before having full sex – which with hindsight seems crazy – but I thought it was telling, and certainly made me trust him more, that he’d put a line through it without comment.
We could reconsider it at a later date, he said.
I nodded, although I didn’t think either of us believed we would wait for long.
‘You know that this contract is complete nonsense, don’t you?’
‘Not if you believe in it,’ Max said calmly, picking up the pen and handing it to me.
I took another look. ‘Can’t we do what we’re going to do without this?’
‘No,’ said Max. ‘There are some things that you can pick and choose, Sarah, but this isn’t one of them. If you don’t sign it we don’t take the next step.’
‘But no one is going to enforce this.’
‘They don’t have to. It’s for our benefit. If you don’t trust me enough to sign it, Sarah, that’s fine, but we don’t play without it.’
I read it again. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Never more so.’
I was torn between frustration, amusement, annoyance and apprehension. If I signed it, it was a sign that I took all this seriously and that we were moving forward. Surely after I’d come this far it was what I wanted.
‘It’s mad,’ I said.
‘Possibly.’
I agonized. When it came right down to it, I realized I was also afraid. Afraid of him? Of me? It was hard to be specific.
‘You have to trust me. I’ll look after you and I promise not to do anything to you that you can’t cope with. I promise …’
And he was right: if we wanted to move this on, then I had to trust him. Looking back, I have no idea why I believed him, but I did.
The contract was currently sitting on my office desk, all signed and sealed. Even as I’d added my signature there was still a part of me that thought it didn’t really count and that, when you got right down to it, it was all completely crazy. I knew full well that in reality no one could hold me to a contract like this if I didn’t want to comply with the conditions.
As I passed the pen over to Max, as if reading my mind, he looked across at me and said, ‘Sarah, this contract is only as meaningful as you make it. I want you to understand that for me this isn’t some kind of joke. Have you read the list of hard limits that I sent you?’
I had. Hard limits are areas of engagement between a Dominant and a submissive which are off-limits: no-go areas. Both subs and Doms can have them, list them, discuss them and expect their limits to be respected. Once again they were things I had read about before, but they had never related to me, or anyone or anything I’d actually been involved in. It was the last part of the bargain to be sealed before we could play:
No breath or underwater play
No animals, no children or minors
No electrical play
No scat
No suspension
No needles, blood or blades
Max asked me if there was anything I wanted to add before we both signed. I said I wanted to include no photographs and no video, and also reserve the right to add things to the list as I discovered more about the lifestyle. Max agreed, happy to accept that our contract was a work in progress, and watched while I added the clause.
Standing there now, blindfolded and alone, it occurred to me that that still left an awful lot of things that weren’t hard limits. An awful lot of things that Max could do to me and not break our contract.
‘I’m scared,’ I murmured.
‘I will keep you safe,’ Max said. ‘I promise.’
I swallowed hard, trying to quell my nerves. I was trembling.
The room was still and there was complete silence. Seconds ticked by. I was tempted to ask Max what was going to happen next. What he was playing at? What was he going to do to me? Hadn’t he said that he would tell me what he was going to do? Despite being desperate to say something, I was also painfully aware that less than half an hour earlier I’d signed up to the ‘not speaking unless spoken to while we were together’ thing and I’d already broken the rule once. This was going to be so much trickier than I had imagined. At forty plus I’d never willingly kept quiet about anything in years. I had an opinion and a wisecrack for every occasion.