The Secret Life of a Submissive

I nodded.

Max was very upright, with broad shoulders, and his demeanour was slightly stiffer than I’d expected from talking to him on the phone, although there was no mistaking the mischief in his eyes. There was a slightly leonine quality about him – he wore his hair swept back off his face, he was heavily set, with a web of laughter lines picking out large blue eyes. While we were in the café I noticed his hands, which were large and very still, something I noticed particularly because I gesticulate all the time and find it almost impossible to talk without moving my hands. He wasn’t handsome in any traditional sense but his features were strong, even and nicely made, and it was obvious from the way he moved that he looked after himself and worked out.

We settled into easy conversation. We talked about our journeys, my job, his trip to Europe, the weather, my choice of footwear, the tourists, the cake – all very comfortable and conversational, but it was impossible to ignore the undercurrent of expectation that was beginning to build up between us.

‘So,’ he said, ‘have you done as I asked?’

I stared at him; the words made my heart flutter. I nodded.

‘Is that a yes?’ he pressed.

‘Yes,’ I said, not quite meeting his eyes; God, this felt so tricky. I was aware that this was the moment of transition when potentially it all finally began to become real.

‘Good. You understand that if we continue with this arrangement you will call me Sir, but not today. Today you can call me Max, but if we take this further it is one of the few things that are non-negotiable. Do you understand?’

I nodded.

‘And I want you to answer me with a word, not a gesture, from now on. So, are you wearing stockings and suspenders or did you decide on hold-ups?’ he asked.

I was wearing stockings and suspenders, not wanting to risk the possibility that the hold-ups wouldn’t.

Max raised his eyebrows. ‘Well?’ he said.

‘Stockings and suspenders,’ I said, glancing around to see who might have overheard our conversation, feeling my colour rise. ‘I’m finding this hard. I’ve never done anything like this before.’

‘I know,’ he said, and then he took an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table towards me. ‘Do you remember what I said?’

How could I possibly forget? I’d read and re-read the email so many times that I could practically recite it in my sleep. I stared down at the envelope, deciding to play dumb.

‘Let me refresh your memory, Sarah. If you make the wrong choice, then you will be punished.’

‘And if I make the right choice?’

‘If you make the right choice, then you will be rewarded.’ His expression was neutral but I could see the amusement in his eyes. ‘Why don’t you open it while I try and attract our waitress’s attention?’

I picked the envelope up, peeled it open and took out the card inside. Glancing down, I read the words neatly written in block capitals across the centre. I could feel Max watching me.

According to the card I should have been wearing hold-ups and my punishment for not doing so was to be spanked. Soon. At a time and place of my choosing.

I looked across into Max’s face and from him up into the face of the waitress, who was standing by the table holding a pen and pad.

Max was smiling, triumphant. ‘More tea?’ he asked.

Chapter Five (#u3bb09197-7afc-5663-83f1-8ad0506ce308)

‘Sex is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other.’

Marquis de Sade

Max and I spent the afternoon together. We ate lunch. We walked round the castle. We explored the shops. We talked and talked and talked, and at no time did Max mention the card or my punishment. As he walked me back to my car he shook my hand and kissed me on the cheek.

‘Call me when and if you’re ready,’ he said as a final farewell.

As I watched him walking away, I wondered exactly what I’d started. Was I ready? It felt as if this was one of those now-or-never moments. Taking a deep breath, I took the phone out of my bag and scrolled down to his number. He was still so close that I could hear the phone when it started ringing. I saw him pull the phone out of his pocket, saw him look at the caller display, saw him smile as he turned back to look at me.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Fancy it being you.’

A week later and Max was wearing much the same expression as he pulled a mask down over my eyes. The mask was nothing threatening, a black, silky little number, not dissimilar to the kind of thing they hand out free on airlines.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, as the lights went out.

I nodded.

‘I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Sarah. From now on you have to say “Yes, Sir.” Or come to that, “No, Sir.”’

Have to? I pulled a face – preposterous. But this was supposed to be me being punished, and earlier we had signed a contract, designed to protect us both, and yes, I had signed up to calling him Sir.

‘I’m waiting,’ he said. His tone was unmistakably crisper.

‘Yes, Sir,’ I mumbled. It felt ridiculous and made me feel stupidly self-conscious. Today was the day when I was supposed to be receiving my punishment for not wearing hold-ups, and in a perverse way, my reward – for being bad by some contrived set of fantasy rules that we had set in motion.

‘Very good,’ Max said. ‘It will get easier, I promise you, until in the end it’ll be second nature.’

I very much doubted that. I stood still – possibly the stillest I’ve ever been in adulthood – blindfolded, wondering what would come next.

‘So here we are at last,’ murmured Max.

He wasn’t alone in feeling that way and I wondered if he had any idea just how much I had agonized – once the giddiness of our first face-to-face meeting had evaporated – about whether to meet him again or just ring and call the whole thing off. I also wasn’t altogether sure how I felt about being punished for a made-up crime. I was heading into completely uncharted water here.

Since we had met for lunch Max and I had spoken every night on the phone.

I had no questions left – only a decision. He had sent me a contract the evening after our first meeting so that I might have a better idea of what to expect if I took it to the next stage. He had also mailed me a long list of book and film titles and links to websites, so that I could find out more about the reality of the lifestyle. But, as he said, he couldn’t make that final decision for me; nor would he attempt to coerce or force me into making it. I was always free to change my mind. If I was unsure about taking the next step it was better to walk away and take more time to think about it than to commit to something I was uncomfortable with – and it would be a commitment.

He was keen to impress on me that for him BDSM was not a joke. If I didn’t want to abide by the rules that was fine, but then he wasn’t the Dom for me. He also pointed out that once I had taken the step there was no going back. You couldn’t unknow something – and it had the potential to change my life and the way I looked at relationships for ever.

So not exactly a lightweight thing, then, I’d joked. This wasn’t quite what I’d imagined when I’d fantasized about being tied up and spanked.

For once Max didn’t laugh. ‘No, that’s true. It changes you,’ he said. ‘You need to bear that in mind before you go any further. And yes, it’s a game and in some ways it’s just role play, but getting involved in BDSM is not without consequences, and the effects and the pay-off are real.’

The contract itself had come as no great surprise. Contracts are common currency and typical for people involved in a BDSM relationship in fiction. I’d written them myself for several books, and the ones I had drawn up for my novels had been a good deal more extreme and a lot pervier. The difference, of course, was that this one wasn’t a work of fiction for some long-limbed, doe-eyed virgin. It was about me.

CONTRACT

On this _th day of __________, 20 ___, I, ___________, hereafter referred to as the submissive, offer myself to Max _________, hereafter known as her Master, for His pleasure in a BDSM relationship defined in detail as follows.

The submissive understands that her Master is a strict Dominant, and that she is a willing submissive masochist to be used for His pleasure. The submissive expects and longs for the Domination of her Master and is willing to endure any punishments deemed appropriate by her Master. The submissive hereby grants permission to her Master to inflict any punishment that He may deem appropriate to the submissive totally for His enjoyment and the pleasure.

The submissive will refer to her Master as ‘Sir’ at all times when they are together, unless instructed to do otherwise.