two more months

My ex-Dom called last weekend and I returned his call finally. We talked for a long time.

It was a surprisingly good conversation even though I was apprehensive.

He suggested we get together sometime. Not too surprising.

He also asked me about the guy I was seeing – someone he used to know. Not a Dom. I was still worried he would be upset about it.

I didn’t think he knew.

He also wanted to discuss where he and I had gone wrong which we’d already done, but I relented. And we talked about school and work and people we know and all the rest of it.

He said he’d actually thought about asking me last weekend to come up and play at the club.

A soft blow.


I played with someone new last Saturday at the private club – a Hot Shot Dom. He was well-known so I thought I was safe, but I could not have been more wrong.

He trailed knives along my skin, lit me on fire, wet and smacked my thighs with metal. He also flogged me with something that left instant welts. I shrieked.

We were not in a private room – several people watched. And it was my first time being completely naked during play.

I passed out while he was choking me and I didn’t think he even noticed. If he had not been pressed against me, I would have crumpled. My arm fell from the chain I had been holding.

I had never passed out before – I didn’t know what was happening to me at first.

The worst part was that he left me alone during subspace – just dropped me and walked away. He was angry that I did not inform him before the session that sex was not a foregone conclusion.

He asked why I didn’t bring up the no-sex factor in the beginning. I told him that I honestly didn’t think sex would come up right away.


4 a.m.

I did not see him again for the rest of the night.


At home, I kept trying to assure myself that it was good I went because now I knew the relationship was over and I could mourn.

I swore he’d never have access to my body again. I was close to him in ways that I’ve never been close to anyone and was now afraid to ever be again.

I couldn’t take it anymore so I messaged him, saying that our arrangement of me consulting him before I play with anyone else appeared to be over and that I was making it official.

Instead of replying, he called.

He said that he had stayed away because he was not sure he could handle me playing with others like he’d thought. And he couldn’t do everything he wanted to with me.

We’d talked about all of this before. I had thought he was fine with it, that the arrangement was working.

I was crying, he was trying to stay focused.

Yes, I think about you all the time. Yes, I wonder what it would be like to be with you. Yes, last summer, you could’ve had me, but you didn’t want me then and now you do, but I’m not sure it has anything to do with me and more to do with you maybe needing somebody and finding no luck among the women you’re attracted to.

He couldn’t stay on the phone.

I wanted to throw myself into his lap and sob.


After finally seeing him on Saturday night, I had to keep steadying my hands. The anger was unexpected and difficult to control.

Apparently, he had decided that we should take some time away from each other, but did not inform me of this decision.

First, no one was allowed into the playroom without a VIP wristband because of a private party. To make matters worse, I ran into several people who asked, “Why aren’t you inside?” and when I replied with a blank look or vague excuse, I was met with knowing Oh’s and even frowns.

I didn’t know why I had even come. The taste of humiliation swelled in my mouth and my chest was hot.

My friend saw him getting paid at the bar so I sought out the anonymity of the dance floor.

But I was not gone long enough. When I returned to my seat, he was talking to someone near us. After that, he said hello to my friends and his hand found my knee. I glared at him when he finally looked at me – I couldn’t help it.

He nodded to my friends and left.

I did not see him again for the rest of the night.

pride and paddling

Much of the tension has eased between us – for now.

After we talked at his place, we played a little before going to the club. That helped.

We rarely played privately anymore as the guy I was dating – understandably – does not like it. But we didn’t do anything wrong.

When we got to the club, he set down his gear and then embraced me in front of everyone. I didn’t know if it was territorial or if he was trying to put me into a headspace before playing.

One girl did not like me. It was clear by how zealously she threw herself at him that our connection really bothered her.

There are other girls he has connections with and when I see them, I step away. It’s not easy, but I have to respect those relationships. There is also my pride. I don’t want anyone to see me hurting. Not in that way.

While playing, I could not take very much. My skin felt raw afterward.

At one point, he barely tapped me with a heavy wooden paddle and it hurt so much that I screamed and nearly lunged off his knees. Before that, he’d used the leather slapper. The sting resonated, turning my yelps into full wails.

He also blindfolded me. It had been forever.

At the end, he had me kneeling, presenting the paddle with my arms raised forward while he dripped hot wax all over them.

Even though the weight became tear-inducingly painful after awhile, I did not drop my arms.

I was proud of myself.

no sudden movements

At the club, my body formed an X, black rope woven elegantly around my neck, between my legs, accentuating each breast.

Something I had never done before: knifeplay.

But first, he tormented my skin with this excruciating leather slapper that almost took me out of the flow.

The knifeplay was equally excruciating, but in a more delicious manner. Unnerving and exquisite. The blade on my skin was even more physically binding than the ropes because I would not risk movement.

As pleasurable as it was, I felt for the first time – I knew it would happen eventually – I had outgrown the club. Not him. But the atmosphere. It no longer held the same allure.

I wanted more.

I didn’t know if he knew, but afterward, he took me to a new club. Private, members-only.

Rooms upon rooms, countless contraptions – leather, metal, wood – everywhere. Artwork and decor, stunning. It was the kind of place read about in books. There was even a library stocked with erotic literature.

The people were serious players, but still warm and welcoming. Refreshments, but no alcohol. Conversation and smoking outside near a fire.

We browsed the main room with its multiple stations until drifting down a hallway – some doors open, some not, some left ajar for the curious. Different songs flowing from each. And of course: screams, wails, gasps, sobs, panting, and more.

Since it was a private club, there was much more skin. And more intimacy.