Chapter Three

By the time I reach the hotel, I’m soaked clear through to my skin. My long hair is drenched and drips down my chest, leaving massive droplets on my new spring coat. What the hell was I thinking when I asked the cabbie to drop me off two blocks away? I mean, who would see me, and even if they did, why would they question my destination?

I enter through the main doors and walk into the lobby. The desk clerk looks up but I smile and find my way to the elevator. He doesn’t try to stop me or ask if he can assist me. He must think I have an air of independence about me, despite my wet-hen look.

My breathing is erratic by the time I ride the elevator to the fifth floor. I follow the signs posted on the wall directing me to room 510. I hesitate and tap my head with a closed fist. What am I doing here?

A man opens the door after three light taps. He’s tall with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and lean hips. Sort of like my Michael I guess and then I tell myself not to go there.

“You’re soaked,” he says through the black hood with only narrow slits where his eyes should be.

This puts me at a disadvantage right away. He can see my eyes but I don’t have the slightest idea what color his are. “Yes, I got caught in the rain.”

The words fly into my head before I can stop them. I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain. I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne.

With a flourish of his arm, he directs me into the room. It’s luxurious, opulent and well-furnished. A four-poster bed sits center stage, companioned by two nightstands, one on each side. Near the window, there’s a sitting area, two plush, magenta wingbacks separated by another small table.

The bathroom door is ajar, but I don’t allow my gaze to linger there. I’m too nervous to think about anything except the hooded man standing in the center of the room and the reason I’m standing there in front of him.

“Well, that’s convenient . . . getting caught in the rain, I mean. Take your clothes off and I’ll drape them over the wingbacks. Hopefully they’ll dry a little.”

I mutter a feeble thank you and begin to undress. He watches me with morbid fascination, and I wonder how many times he’s done this before.

“I assume you brought cash. Most bring cash, nothing traceable.”

I nod.

“Lay it on the nightstand and then take a seat on the slat-backed chair at the foot of the bed.”

“Naked, you mean.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be much sense conducting our session in wet clothes, would there?”

“No, guess not.”

If you were to ask me what happened next, other than a vague memory of me removing my clothing, laying the money on the night table and walking naked to the chair he pointed to, I couldn’t tell you. Everything from that moment on meshed together until I heard my own voice echo through the quiet solitude of the hotel room.

“Yes, oh, yes!”

My hands are bound behind my back and tied to the chair. My ankles are anchored to the chair legs in the same manner. Blindfolded, I can’t see the binding, but the scent of leather suffuses my senses.

Master D’s voice is muffled and low. “Your knees are touching again, Princess. So far, I’m not impressed by your lack of obedience.” He grabs a thick length of my long hair and yanks. “Why should I waste my time with a woman who has no desire to submit?”

“I put the blindfold on as instructed, didn’t I? Took my clothes off.”

“Don’t play games with me, Miss Disneyland. You’ll lose.”

He knows me only by the moniker Princess Ariel from the chatroom, long before I agreed to meet him at a five-star hotel. The man has excellent taste; I’ll give him that.

I writhe and arch my back when the flogger whistles through the air. It connects with my skin like a caress. A moan leaves my lips and I understand why he chose the name Master D. I don’t believe any man in the world has mastered the delivery of the whip with such consummate skill. Not once has the leather snake landed in the same spot twice, but rather. he crisscrosses my breasts, abdomen, and thighs in a nearly impossible pattern.

His intent is to tease me, torment me, and he’s succeeded from the moment I entered the room. Oh, yeah, I forgot, humiliate me too. My nipples are hard and swollen and moisture pools between my thighs.

His calloused hands wrench my legs apart, his voice behind the black hood muted and husky. This piques my curiosity even more. I hear him shuffle around me and then the bindings around my wrists are loosened. “Slide forward on the chair until your butt cheeks rest on the edge.” His feet tread softly across the carpet in the room and I smell his cologne—rich, sexy and intoxicating—drifting down on me. He’s standing in front of me again. “Open your legs wide. I want to see those pink, swollen pussy lips.”

A shiver races down my spine on the heels of another. I obey because I want to prove I can be the submissive he expects me to be. I’d die if he left the room now, decided I wasn’t worth his trouble. Yes, I paid him up front, but it’s no longer about that. He’s proven he’s a professional and for some insane reason, it’s important I don’t disappointment him.

His breath quickens and then hitches in his throat. That pleases me. Does he like what I’m showing him with my legs spread apart?

“Don’t move, not a muscle. If you slide back a fraction of an inch or twitch a muscle when I touch you, I’ll leave you here, blindfolded and tied to the chair. Do you understand?”

Tremors course through me. “Yes, Master, I understand.”

A warm finger strokes the cleft of my breasts. Instinctively, my nipples turn to stone. With his thumb and forefinger, he tweaks one tight bud and then moves on to the other. The muscles of my stomach clench, but God help me, don’t let me flinch. Consumed with anticipation and raw need, I close my eyes behind the blindfold and concentrate.

The man moves liked a silent panther, a practiced silent panther. His mouth claims my right breast, which means he’s dropped to his knees in front of me without making a sound. His tongue licks my nipple in a pattern of tiny circles, the touch so light it could be a kiss from a sparrow. Oh, God, I want more, want rough and possessive sex. How difficult it is to sit as still as a statue when raw hunger shoots through every cell in my body. I have entered Master D’s world now and I must play by his rules.

When he agreed to meet, he made that clear. He is the Dom and I, the sub. I imagine part of his universe includes patience, control and torment. He hasn’t earned the trade name of Master D without reason.

His teeth scrape across a taut nipple. Heaven. Bliss. At last, his hungry mouth claims my breast. He suckles me, slow and soft for a time before setting upon the aching mound like a starved babe. The rhythm and pace of his knowledgeable mouth test my sworn oath to obey. I must remain still. Somehow.

Michael’s face surfaces somewhere in the steamed matter of my brain. Not now, please not now. I loved you, Michael, love you still. The long nights became too much, the cold, empty bed, the missed birthdays and more. So much more. It seems so long ago we said, “I do,” promised to love and cherish one another until death. Please don’t let me think about him now.

I stifle a shudder and feel my eyes snap open when he pushes a finger inside and strokes my wet channel. Mother of Jesus, concentrate. Of their own volition, the muscles of my pussy tightens around his long, thick digit. With a growl, he inserts another finger, pushes, and probes. And drives me mad with desire.

He would pick this moment to question me, knowing I’ll answer truthfully rather than running the risk of losing him before he completes the session.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Princess Ariel, which makes me wonder why you’re here. We didn’t go into detail about that. Why did you agree to meet me? The man in your life, your husband, isn’t into this kink you crave? He can’t deliver what you want, what you need, or do you think he’s lost interest in you?

I don’t want to talk about my Michael right now, want nothing to distract me from this delectable bliss. Yet, I can’t dispel the thoughts flitting through my mind. Oh, Michael, what happened to the love we once shared? Forgive me, please forgive me. Know that I’ll love you until the day I die.

Master D’s voice sounds muffled and . . . something else. “It doesn’t make sense—a woman as lovely as you meeting a stranger at a hotel for her pleasure. Tell me, Princess, your man won’t do you like I will?”

I eke the words out between heavy pants. “Permission to speak, Master.”

We went over the basis rules before he asked me to remove my clothing— what I was to call him during our session, what would happen if I didn’t submit wholly, completely, and that I must ask permission before I spoke a word.

“Granted.”

“I will do anything you ask; talk about anything you want to talk about except my husband.”

“Fair enough.”

His mesmerizing voice and the wicked motion of his fingers makes me forget I’m not supposed to move. My hips lurch upward and a gasp of pleasure pushes past my dry lips. He applies pressure to that special spot inside me; the one I found the nights Michael didn’t come home from work. Too many lonely nights.

On one of those hollow evenings, I had dragged my body from bed and wandered into the computer room, praying he’d sent me an e-mail. How I longed to see the words: Had to work late again. I love you. Michael.

I turned the computer on, intending to go directly to my e-mail, but instead an unfamiliar screen came up: Enter the bondage chat room Tie Me Up now? My heart sank to the depravities of Hell. Had Michael used the computer last? Has he been engaging in sexual domination or does he merely observe?

Is this the reason Michael pushed me away, lost interest in our sex life? Was it just bondage and submission he was into or was it more than that, like other women? Anger had replaced my pain. I clicked the mouse and landed on the registration page. Of course, I had to keep going. I used a nickname, Princess Ariel, and then a magic door opened. I entered the room, and scanned the list of names. No Michael, but why would there be. He would use a moniker, like I did.

It didn’t take long for me to realize who everyone in the room gravitated toward. A man named Master D dominated the scene (no pun intended). Oh, he was good at his trade and, like the others in the room, I was drawn to him like the proverbial moth to a flame. Even online, he possessed a commanding presence and an authoritative demeanor. What woman wouldn’t be pulled into that?

I didn’t join in on the conversation, not for many days, but nonetheless, I was hooked, like a worm dangling on a trout line. The chatter captivated me: I was enthralled by the topics of conversation and the terms . . . cock rings, mouth gags, butt plugs, spreader bars and rope, all instruments of pain and pleasure.

Hiding in the shadows, or so I thought, it didn’t take long for Master D to single me out. He wooed me online with his dirty talk, drove me wild with his chatter of decadent pleasure and domination. He knew what women needed, didn’t have to say it, and never once bragged about it. He didn’t have to. Every woman in the chat room, including me, would be pleading for his individual attention given the opportunity, begging him to fuck them.

Master D yanks my hair again, jolting me into the present. “Two questions, Princess. What did I tell you about moving and where were you just now when I was fingering you, huh?”

I decide truth is the better part of valor in this case, when one is tied to a chair and a Dom is staring into your face. “I was thinking back on the first time I entered Tie-Me-Up.”

“Good answer, Princess Ariel.”

His knees creak when he bends down and unties my feet from the chair. “Slide off and crawl to the bed. Find it with your hands.”

Humiliation time. And undeniable blood-rushing anxiety. I slide off the chair and land on my hands and knees. And from there, I don’t move. A shriek escapes from my mouth when the leather flogger lands hard on my bare bottom.

“Does it appear to you that I like I to repeat myself?”

I shake my head and begin crawling toward where I think the bed is situated in the room. My fingers grope for fabric and I pray I’m in the right area. Success! I feel the silky down of the coverlet.

“Crawl up, face down on the duvet.”

Soft, plush, silk binds my wrists to the wooden railings of the headboard. Does he bring neckties to his sessions? My face rests against the comfort of the satin bed cover. Heat flames in my cheeks as I imagine my naked body spread-eagle on the bed. The room falls still. I can’t control the eagerness overwhelming me. What is he planning next?

He stuffs a gag in my mouth, soft cotton that smells like fresh-washed linen. What, no ball gag? I thought they were such a novelty?