We agreed that the connection between us was too strong to ignore, and that we wanted to see more of one other. Unfortunately, he was leaving for a week in two days. So, ever the one to jump at an opportunity, I agreed to come see his house the next day. This all at once excited and frightened me. I already was prone to trust him, but we’d only met for a cumulative two, almost three hours the day before, though we’d talked for longer. And I knew from our conversations that he had a “playroom” dedicated to house his toys, St. Andrew’s Cross, suspension harness, and many other little things I had never seen in person before.

I arrived on his doorstep, in a peaceful lovely neighborhood I used to deliver pizzas in (hello, fantasy role play), and paused in his driveway, looking to the fields behind his house, glancing at the construction down the street, feeling the breeze sweep over the hill. Anything to distract me from the fact that I was about to knock on his door and step across his threshold, an act that would symbolize for me more than just walking into a house, but claiming at long last what I’d always wanted for myself. Finally, sweeping into my lungs one last breath of bravery, I rapped on his door, and heard his footsteps approach on the other side.

The door opened and I smiled, lips trembling, then glanced away from his intense dark gaze, shy and thrilled. He kissed me, gentle lips, pushing my backpack from my right shoulder and onto the floor, then took my hand and gave me a tour of his home. Here was the office, the game room, the locked playroom door, the family areas, the (fucking amazing) kitchen, the television/lounge area, the bathrooms, his bedroom…I paused at his door subconsciously. 

He looked back and laughed a little, and I brushed off my nervousness, saying I was like a vampire, I had to be invited in. He reached back and took my hand, and led me through his room past the huge wrought iron four poster bed, through the master bath to his closet and a door sequestered inside. Keys came forth, and he unlocked the hidden entryway, and switched the lights on.

Now. Any girl I know seriously would have taken one look at his sturdy homebuilt St. Andrew’s Cross, his fucking machine, the spreader bench, the bottle of oil on the desk next to the computer, and run away, screaming, do not pass “Go”, do not collect two hundred dollars. He smiled and observed with his eyes that missed nothing, watching me take it all in. I was trembling with excitement and curiosity as he pointed out different things, with each item that was introduced he watched my reaction, and seemed to approve. Not to lie, I was mortified. This was what I was choosing to explore, this strange dark world of pain, of restriction, bondage, and submission. The good little Jehovah’s Witness kid that I tried to be for most of my life cringed back in fear. More than that, though, the little girl who grew up choosing to read the Marquis de Sade and relate the stories to her girlfriends, delighting in their disgust…that girl, she was jumping up and down with glee, squealing in excitement, running her fingers over every last item in that room.

He led me out. I followed reluctantly but also gratefully, in a way glad to see that door shut and locked and me on the normal side again. He got me a glass of water, I tugged at his bedframe, testing the weight subconsciously and giggling nervously when he caught me. He commented something smart-assed that I immediately forgot with my awkwardness, and I giggled, then followed him into the living room to sit on his dark chocolate-colored leather couch. 

We sat and chatted, and he seemed so calm as I sizzled beneath the surface, a roiling bubble of turmoil directly beneath my skin. I was almost surprised that he couldn’t see it. Part of me now thinks he did. He’d chuckle a bit at something I said, I’d giggle nervously, and while his gaze barely left my face I deflected and glanced away more than I would have liked. He must have been perfectly aware of the effect his playroom had on me, and been just waiting for my own realization at how much I wanted to explore it, no matter how terrified I was. 

We laughed about each of us feeling like teenagers again, just being in each other’s presence, but how we had to be aware of infatuation and not let it get the better of us. In the next breath we were pulling each other’s shirts to get closer, our lips already entangled in one another, I pulled the collar of his shirt, he pulled my hair, we kissed so hard, our tongues rasping wetly against each other, that I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. This man kissed me like he was breathing, pulling my body in wherever he could reach it, and I gave up my attempt to remain cool, feeling my wetness gushing between my legs, knowing that there’d be no hiding my excitement with him, finally feeling like there was no reason to ever hide anything again, as long as he was around.

…………………………………..

Returning from dinner to his home, we settled into his place, I kicked off my shoes by the door, he asked me back into his room, and then said he realized he hadn’t shown me the playroom closet. Part of me thrilled that there were even more surprises to come, the other part didn’t want to go near anything that could have been counted as more of a surprise after the initial shock of stepping through that concealed door. But I didn’t even consider choosing anything other than following him through it once again, and waiting as he turned on the lights and opened up the closet, directing me to sit on the floor in the doorway. I spotted a bag, and could see several things inside that I wanted to be nosy and pull out on my own, but I didn’t dare. 

I knew what I saw, and I wanted it. His eyes followed mine, and he reached down, pulled out two red and brown leather wrist cuffs, and glancing in my face to make sure of my willingness, began to strap them onto my arms. Tight, but not too much, just enough that there would be no wiggle room. No words needed exchanging between us, and in that one little moment of me reaching out my arms to receive the cuffs, began a give and take of trust, of surprise, of finally giving over to this enigmatic man all control, of finally not having to choose, but to just do.

Finally cuffed, I tossed my wrists, turning them back and forth, reveling in the feel of the tight leather, the smell of them, the sound of the hook on my left wrist’s loop clanking back and forth and back again. He asked me how I felt, what they made me feel, and without a thought I said “safe”. He smiled, looked away for a moment, then carried on showing me what he had safely stored inside the playroom closet.

Each instrument of paddling or flogging, teasing, or beating had its gentle taste of the skin on my arms and breasts, to acquaint me with what to expect. I especially was intrigued by the beautiful purple and black floggers, as well as the whip called the Devil’s tongue. He piled a select few by my side, and pulled out drawers, revealing the largest most horrendous looking dildos I’d ever seen, as well as nipple clamps, clothespins, and an array of tools that I’m sure I’d become familiar with, given practice, trust, and time. 

We finished the tour, and he helped me rise, turned me around, and eventually led me out of the room and back through his closet to the master bedroom. How appropriate…the Master’s bedroom.

The leather cuffs didn’t come off all night, in fact when the time eventually came to sleep I asked if I may keep them on…and he added the matching collar as well. But that’s a story for another time.