I was told to wear heels, a dress, bra and no undies.
I was standing in the carport of a very nondescript, small house out in the ‘burbs. It was midday on a weekday. Such an odd time and setting to be embarking on what I was about to do.
My hands shook, and my legs were wobbly and I almost turned around and ran back down the driveway.
But I was here now. I took a deep breath and propelled myself forward.
I knocked on the door and waited.
The blinds twitched and a man answered the door. An ordinary man. Not a hulking great wrestler with a pentagram carved into his forehead, just a normal, good looking guy. Jeans, t-shirt, average height, friendly face, longish curly hair, a discreet nose ring. He smelled good. He had a nice smile. I felt relieved. But I was still freaking out.
I was here to see a BDSM Dominant and there he was, standing before me, looking me up and down.
I lost the power to speak, which was fine because I was to be submissive and apart from a few pleasantries and acceptance of the rules, I was not required to speak very much.
I’ve had a few bum spankings, a choke or two, a bit of hair pulling, and I quite liked it.
But this was different.
Sir (it was Sir, with a capital S) and I discussed the rules, he told me the safe word, what different colours and numbers mean – green is good, orange is not good, red is stop immediately.