"...When you greet me at your door I want you to be wearing your dildo-pants. Oh, and wear them under your tightest pair of jeans. I'm taking you out tonight, and yes; I do want you wearing them out in public. I'll see you in a bit," I said, and then hung up without giving her a chance to respond.
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You walk into the room, and immediately you feel that something is different. Its a room you have been in a thousand times, but yet you can't quite place it.
Then you see her, and you forget what it was you were thinking. Not that there is anything different about her today, she just smiles her usual smile as she walks towards you.
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You walk straight through the hotel reception and head over to the elevators. Pushing the button you wait for it to arrive. You are wearing the tight blue jeans red hoodie that you know I like. Underneath is the black underwear from one of the pictures you sent me when we first started talking to each other.
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He doesn't need to blindfold me.
The room is dark as pitch, even with my eyes wide open, staring so hard that I can feel my pupils dilated fully, making my ears ring, all I see is dark in dark.
The high backed wooden chair I'm tied to is the only solid thing my senses can grab hold of, the harshness of the rope that binds my hands tightly behind my back and my feet to the chair legs.
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I was so glad to be on the way home. It wasn't a particularly long or difficult date; I was just ready to be home – home to my loving wife of fifteen years. I know it's a cliché, but my wife really is my best friend. They say that a strong marriage is built on good communication. Well, we have a very strong marriage. We talked about everything – all the time. We would send each other short e-mails or text messages several times a day and usually when my wife came home from work we would often sit on the couch just talking for 30-45 minutes as we decompressed (I get home an hour before she does most days).
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She arrived exactly on time; seven o'clock. I heard the doorbell ring and felt a small rush of adrenalin. With Amanda, I had learned to expect the unexpected. Thus the adrenalin.
I opened the door to all 5'11" of her, and smiled. She was so good at this. Standing there with her massage table and linen bag, dressed in loose‐fitting pants, a collared work shirt and tennis shoes, she looked every bit the part of a normal masseuse.
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As I watched Jen skip back from the DVD player and nestle in next to me on the sofa, I took a minute to think how lucky I was.
It was a Saturday night last November at my flat in London. My girlfriend, Jen, a beautiful 30-year old, petite but with a 36C bust and long, black hair, had just put on a porn film entitled "Five in a Bed", for us to watch together. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night, right?
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We'd been together for a while. The bond was there – clear and strong. I was his at one time – there was no question. There was nothing I'd deny him – nothing. I told him of my fantasies and many times he used them on the phone or in person to take my lust to different levels.
He sent me instructions in emails and text messages and knew with all the certainty that the sun would come up that I'd obey them.
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Amber shivered as she was led into the room. A million things were going through her head. She wondered how many men were in the room with her and what they were thinking. The blindfold prevented her from seeing anything and there was an uneasy silence. She was nervous. Nervous and afraid. What were they going to do with her? Her mind raced. She thought of what she must look like being led by a leash into a room wearing only a fishnet body suit and a blindfold.
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As we pulled up to my house I enjoyed the fact that no bicycles were strewn on the driveway and no soccer goal stood on the lawn. Just my wife and I at home tonight, with no kids to interrupt and no reason to try and maintain any appearances. I had been looking forward to this for weeks. I got out of the car and turned to say goodnight to my neighbor from down the street.
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