Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
He smiles and asks for my coat and bag, which I hand over with a thank you. Weirdly, I feel more exposed than usual in such a tiny, basic outfit. Less of a confident, dressed up slut, out to impress her clients. Here, standing before him, I’m just me, without the mask of fishnets and corset lacing.
“Take off your shoes, please,” he tells me, and I nod before leaving them on the shoe rack. My bare feet are cold on his chequered floor tiles.
He makes no attempt at small talk, so I stay quiet, merely following. His energy deepens as he leads me through his house, through a corridor off to the right, and down a spiral stone staircase to another heavy wooden door.
Seems he wasn’t joking when he said dungeon. My instincts shoot back in as I stand there on the steps, white knuckles gripping the railing in a vice as he turns the key in the lock. I could run. My legs are tense and ready to bolt, all fantasies of sinking straight into a heady subspace all drying up to nothing.
Standing here – ready to enter a real-life dungeon, in a manor house off grid from the rest of the world, feels like full on insanity. The crazy feeling doesn’t ease off when the door swings open and I see the full scope of the wonder waiting inside. User 109 wasn’t exaggerating in his proposal, this a BDSM dungeon worthy of a specialist club. He has everything laid out to perfection, spaced out with plenty of room, and a whole host of implements lining the walls, all lit up with spotlights. He even has a gas style mask for cyber play.
I repeat my safe word in my head on loop, flag, flag, flag, flag, flag, but he addresses that angle as he closes the door behind us.
“You are free to use your safe word at any time, Holly. I will loosen you from your bonds and call you a cab immediately with no problem whatsoever. I will simply deduct whatever fee is remaining from your earnings.”
I nod at him. “Thank you.”
“If you are gagged, or unable to use your safe word, there is a rhythm of beats you can use with any part of your body available. Hands, feet, fingers, whatever is free.” He shows me by knocking the rhythm out on the wall beside us. Three, pause, four, pause, five, pause. “Any other noise or objections you make will be taken as part of the playtime. Please be as expressive as you need to be. Moans, begs, screams and protests are all perfectly acceptable, I will read them in line with the scene. I believe the proposal demonstrates what kind of experience is ahead for you, but do you have any questions?”
I’m still looking around in amazement. My eyes are fixated on the rack. I’ve never been on a rack before.
“No, thank you. No questions.”
“It’s Sir now, please.”
His tone is so sharp, my eyes flit straight back to his.
“Of course, yes. No questions, thank you, Sir.”
“Good girl. Now strip for me.”
He steps away for a full view as I pull my dress up and off, casting it away to the side. I unhook my bra and toss it down, then step out of my panties. I’ve never felt so naked in my life as User 109 – Sir -– paces around for a full 360. His eyes rove all over me, and I bow my head, fingers hooked together as my legs tremble. I can’t help it.
“You’re certain you’re ready for this experience?” he asks me, taking off his grand burgundy robe and hanging it on the back of the door. He’s fully suited underneath, in posh brogues.
“Yes, Sir,” I say, and feel a crazy need to defend myself, in case he deems me unworthy or something. “I love BDSM and pain play. I haven’t done it like this, no, but I can do, I promise. I want to. It’s why I starred the items on the naughty list, because it’s what I want. I need it.”
“It’s ok,” he says, with just the slightest hint of a smile. “You don’t have to sell your suitability to me. A yes would suffice.”
I take some breaths as the truth of my words sink in. I do want this. This is the stuff dreams are made of. It’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve been fantasising over for years, and it’s right here in front of me. I look at my Sir with stronger eyes.
“Yes, Sir. I’m certain I’m ready for this experience.”
“Excellent,” he says. “Then let’s get started.”
He directs me over to one of the large walls, where there are strong metal bars placed horizontally all the way up, like a ladder. He takes some leather cuffs from a side table, and I offer my wrists to him willingly. He buckles them tight, but professionally, checking their security before ordering me to stand with my back against the bars and raise my arms above my head, as far as they will go.