Even blindfolded, I recognized the clink of my heels on the metal stairs we were climbing.

Even blindfolded, I recognized the clink of my heels on the metal stairs we were climbing. I knew he felt my shiver, despite the warmth of the summer air and sun on my face. I wanted to turn back, grab the railing with my hand and find my way back to the curb. The thin cotton print dress flapped at my thighs as the breeze wafted up between the tall buildings. I shuddered, and felt the grip of his hand in the small of my back, reassuring, urging, reminding.

I knew where we were, and he knew I recognized the stairs. My mind raced, forming the images in my mind. Before, when he had brought me here, it was dark, night time, in the cold of winter. The club was busy that night, a large group celebrating a birthday, a small group welcoming an old friend back into town. Several couples took advantage of the quiet corners, the exquisite props.

He had brought me here to observe, and to observe my reactions. I had been spellbound. Public play had never appealed to me, still didn’t. Yet the variety of scenes, and technical expertise had opened a whole new realm of understanding for me. He had introduced me to the owner, a kind faced gentleman who had greeted me warmly, in a gracious manner. I had been shocked later to see him with a whip in his hand, a fierceness burning in his eyes.

“But what are we Doing here?” my mind questioned. I dared not utter a sound. I concentrated on keeping my breathing regular, focusing to make positive that my body did not betray the doubt in my thoughts. My head remained straight and proud. I knew we had reached the landing, felt rather than heard him open the heavy warehouse door. He turned, smoothed the hair back from my face, brushed his hand over my dress, squeezed my shoulder and once again, with his hand in my back, propelled me forward into the open expanse of a room.

Silence. The silence was deafening. We stood for long moments. I heard nothing. The door swung closed behind us, and I heard a faint click of the lock. The ideas and notions crashed in my mind with a speed reminiscent of a junkyard derby. Was someone else here? Was there a group about to yell *Surprise* and scare me into laughter? My phobias crescendoed. I went quickly from the practical guesses to the absurd. Only a few seconds had passed, but my fears dragged them into hours. His gentle touch reminded me. I took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

“Trust me.”

How often had I laughed at the thought. Trust someone, indeed. Now there was the real absurdity. Yet, everything in my memory reminded me that this man was such that could be trusted, relied upon to fulfill promises and responsibilities.

So I nodded. And breathed again.

I stood silently as I felt him walk away from me. I continued to keep my hands clasped behind my back, not bound, yet bound by his command. When he returned, I could sense him standing before me, heard the sharpness of his breath before he spoke, “Please, now, remove your dress for me. Slowly. Erotically.” The final two words came out with a smile. I formed the image of his face as the pleasure spread across his look.

My hands began with the top button, working my way all the way down the dress before slipping it from my shoulders and letting it drop on the floor. I stood with my legs slightly apart, my body now nude before him, the heels extending the muscles in my legs, accentuating the positive. My hands returned to my back, now locked hand to elbow as he would wish, my breasts thrust outward and my back bowed because of the stance.

As he bent to retrieve the dress on the floor, his lips brushed against my mons, kissing it lightly, almost reverently. I heard him inhale deeply and chuckle at the already erupting passion so apparent between my legs. He stood, and pressed close to me, his hands sliding around to hold my arms in place as he gathered me into a deep embrace.

His kiss on my lips was possessive, searching for the ownership he had already claimed. I answered with a fire of lust, returning his kiss and giving strong evidence to the rights that I had given him months ago.

He broke the kiss and pulled me forward. I tried to remember the layout of the club, which devices were to the left, to the right. Almost as if he knew, he walked me in a circle, and called out each piece as we passed.

“A lovely bondage table. Remember the blonde bound here, looking as though she were ready to bench press 200# at any moment? chuckle..maybe not. Or these stocks? Surely you remember the reddened ass of that poor male sub? No? Well, what have we here? The St. Andrew’s Cross?

Ahhh…I remember the gleam in your eye at this one. It matched the smile escaping from your lips even now. Wait, don’t make up your mind so suddenly. I don’t believe this particular instrument was here during your last visit. Would you like for me to describe it to you? Or would you prefer to feel it?”

His hands pulled mine from behind me, and guided me towards a platform. I stepped up to feel a wood railing, woodwork. He guided my hands across and down, showing me the framework of a four poster bed. Then he pulled me around, to touch the soft fine linen of the bed covers. An image was forming in my mind of a very beautiful Victorian bed. One that just happened to be located in the middle of a very large public common area of a local dungeon. And just as quickly as my mind had begun to sink into a new space, the realities shocked me back into a shivering turmoil.

He walked me away from the raised platform and back to the center of the room. He spread my legs further apart, his hand on the inside of my thigh, urging me to move. Following his whispered commands, I moved my hands up behind my head, interlacing my fingers. He quickly and in a very businesslike way bucked the cuffs on my ankles, and my wrists. He replaced the soft silk blindfold with a stronger, heavier one. A thick collar went around my neck.

His gentle kisses on the naked flesh of my shoulders eased the tension that came with the click of that buckle. I swallowed hard, and turned my head from one side to the other, trying to shake the feeling somehow, not accustomed to the collar.

He paused, then stopped. Suddenly time stood still. His voice was almost pained when he spoke. “The collar, my dear? Is it not to your taste? Answer me, please.”

“It…it is fine, Sir.”

“It pleases you then?”

“If it pleases you, Sir.”

His soft caresses calmed me, settled me once again. His gentle voice placated me. I remember not the words, but the tone. Hushed whispers once again hypnotized my mind, pushed me back towards the space we craved.

Arms cradled me. His body was once again close to mine, reassuring me. And just as I felt comfortable again, safe in his arms, he withdrew.

“Now then, my sweet,” he laughed softly, “do you choose, or shall I?”

Ahhh, the frustration. Each time I started to slip into that realm of abject submission, he’d make me think. Defiantly, I pondered his proposal. If he wasn’t going to let me sink into that space, then why did he keep me so close? My chin jutted forward a bit, my jaw set. How I wish he could have seen the blaze in my eyes.