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A friend gave me his phone number weeks ago.
“Call him. Just call him,” she said.
I’d stopped dating. It wasn’t the guys. Well, maybe a little.
“Look, I’m over ‘relationships’ for the moment. I just want to be by myself for awhile. That’s all.”
My friend shrugged. “Call him,” she said again.
I was the youngest of three girls. Growing up, I’d watched my sisters and their boy friends. Clumsy kisses in the barn. Hands groping, pushed away, more groping. I had dreams, murky pictures in my head. And I’d fumbled with myself some nights, unsatisfied, my fumbling increasing my longing. Like cocks were doing now.
Oh, I’d had lots of cocks the last few years, big ones, small ones. Cocks that were hair-trigger, and cocks that had to be coaxed. Cocks that loved your basic fuck, and cocks that wanted anything but your basic fuck. And I’d lie in bed afterwards with every one of those cocks (never guys, or men, just cocks), damp, salty, sometimes fumbling in the dark after they started snoring, and I wanted more, less, nothing, everything. I wanted something I couldn’t admit to myself. I wanted and wanted, but I was afraid.
“Call him,” my friend said.
It was the thought of lying in the dark that stopped me from calling, and the scent of supposed love, and the emptiness, the loneliness, the unhappiness that was always worse after it was over. I was fumbling in the dark.
When I finally made the call, he told me to come alone and to wear a skirt and blouse. No underwear.
My hands shook. I shaved everything that night. Everything but my head. I shoved a chair in front of the mirror and sat in it, naked. I touched myself, my legs spread and feet resting against the wall on either side of the mirror. I investigated each fold of my pussy and cunt, then touched my fingers to my mouth, tasting myself. And I fondled my breasts, watching, playing with my nipples until they hardened. I slipped my fingers in and out of myself, the fingers of one hand in my asshole, the fingers of the other in my cunt. And all the while, I watched. I was a stranger to myself. I was nobody I’d ever met before.
The first thing he did that night was to tie me bent over a cage. Some other girl was locked inside of it.
“You think I’m going to fuck you?” he said, leaning close, but not touching me. “Only if you’re lucky.” And he cocked his head, his eyes sad, as though he pitied me. “Don’t worry.” He smiled then, but it made me shiver. “I’m only going to hurt you a little.”
I wanted to say something sexy. I wanted to make him want me. I wanted to do all the things I’d learned through the years, the way a girl takes control. But I couldn’t. I was falling. I was out of control. I was breaking into pieces.
He smiled because he knew everything the moment he saw me. He’d watched my eyes wander once he’d unlocked the door to his “special room” and led me inside. The walls were covered with straps, ropes, chain, shackles. My body was on fire.
That night he cut my clothing off me. He shackled me to a metal bar. He locked a heavy steel collar on my neck. Chain between my legs, around my breasts. Metal in my mouth, my ass. Metal clamps pinching my nipples. And later, vibrator in my cunt. He stretched me out spread-eagle, lying on my back. He wrapped leather around my neck and tightened. He cut off my air. He made me come over and over.
After he was done with me and let me loose, I kneeled in front of him and kissed his boots. He put a thinner collar on my neck and locked it in place.
“You’ll do everything I say. When I call, you’ll come immediately.”
I stared at the floor.
“Yes sir.”
“You’re mine now.”
I shivered, not from cold, but from something else, something new, an electricity. For the first time, I wasn’t fumbling in the dark anymore.
“Yes sir.”

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