I have been working on her for a long time with little success. My fantasy is for her to experience bondage and discipline from a master. She is independent and obstinate to a fault. She will think nothing of biting her nose off to spite her face. You can imagine my challenge.
It all started when we came out of the closet. She found out about my sexual obsessions and I found out her fantasies. Since then a lot of the sexual tension that underscored our lives has dissipated. Those dirty little secrets weren't secrets anymore. They weren't dirty, either. Perhaps, prurient captures their essence better.
Her fantasies are pretty tame. She wants to be fucked hard and made to suffer an assault that leaves her breathless and totally sated. That's not how I like sex and try as I might, I can't give her the pleasure she craves. I can't be brutal enough for her (I don't like the idea of hurting anyone, least of all her) and I'm not a good enough lover to know how to push all the right buttons, when, in what sequence and, of course, how hard to best satisfy her. Oh, I know all the buttons, I think, but playing her like a virtuoso through them is beyond my understanding.
She says she's happy with our sex life but if so, why her fantasies, or do we all have them regardless of how fulfilling our sex lives are? We've been together a long time so that gives some weight to her claim but still, if the fantasy persists there must be some unfulfilled need. So, her fantasy has become my fantasy.
She will never have sex with anyone except me. If she is to experience her fantasy she has to get past that. I have not been successful arguing and creating the conditions for her to change a belief in fidelity she's held for a lifetime. She's not religious, it's just what she thinks a person of her age and situation should be. The alternative explanation is too depressing to consider: she doesn't enjoy sex (with me) enough to expend the emotional and physical energy needed to take that step. And, if that lack of interest is due in whole or part to me not having satisfied her enough to be willing, then you can see where this line of reasoning takes me. The plan is to broaden her knowledge and experience so taking that step becomes possible. I need a catalyst.
She is curious about BDSM but not obsessed with it. While her interest is passing she has expressed interest in being at a session to observe it firsthand. She has surfed the web looking for and watching it.
I researched BDSM and emailed doms. After a lot of soul searching I finally called a few to discuss what I was seeking. If they didn't or wouldn't do what I wanted I asked for recommendations for others and talked to them. I finally reduced the list to three candidates. None were local. I travel enough that over the course of a year or so I was able to meet each to discus and further refine my plan. What resulted was a tight cohesive script to take her to the very edge of what was possible. I made my choice.
Arrangements were made, schedules confirmed and money spent. I told her I had a most unusual birthday present for her that required we go out of town. Her curiosity piqued; she consented. We arrived mid-afternoon, limoed to the hotel and settled in for a few hours before heading out for dinner. We had a cozy romantic meal on her birthday eve in an upscale restaurant where she had her favorite meal.
We were dressed semi-formally, though something we rarely do it was appropriate to the clientele seated around us. I wore a dark suit with a maroon silk tie. I have a weakness for Oscar de la Renta and a closet full of his ties. The maroon is my favorite and she knows it. She wore a cocktail dress that she bought for the occasion. That evening was the first time I saw it. Made of a shimmering dark green fabric it was cut to hang on her like skin. I loved the cowl neckline because of the possibility of it exposing her breasts, something I never tire of seeing. Of course, she knew my preferences and played to them.
She wore a green bra engineered to emphasize her breasts, not reveal them. A hemline that cut her at the knees, and a modest slit up one thigh with nude, strappy four-inch heels transformed her from an early, middle-aged housewife into a goddess with unlimited potential. Her hair, makeup and jewelry were appropriate but understated. She felt good about how she looked and I loved it. With good wine she was like putty by the time we were through. I could have asked for and received anything at that point. That was the point.
We taxied to a large discrete residence just outside the city center in an old part of town that still enjoyed the glory of its past and stood out as a jewel among many. The house was of the Victorian style but with minimal gingerbread cues. Barely visible from the street, the landscaping was mature with large, beautiful trees and immaculately manicured lawns and gardens. It could easily be mistaken for a museum. There was a circular drive that was familiar to the taxi driver. As he turned in I noticed the driveway also went straight cutting between a carriage house to the right and the main residence on the left. Landscape lighting revealed a paved courtyard separating the two with a lit portico on the left to protect arriving and departing guests from the weather. A limousine was there, dropping off guests even though the weather was mild, clear, and dry. Attendants were in evidence assisting the arrivals. I wondered had we arrived earlier or in a limousine would we have been taken to the courtyard entrance?
The driver pulled to a stop at a permanently mounted awning covered in dark blue material. The gable end of the awning announced that this was the Hanover House in white script letters. An attendant was waiting for us. He was impeccably dressed and groomed. It wasn't livery, per se but was carefully chosen, an understated but elegant presentation. He wore a smooth silver button in his lapel. Opening the door he helped Sophie out. She waited for me on a deep maroon carpet that followed the awning to the porch steps and then up to the entrance where another attendant, identical to the first was waiting for us.
As we approached I was not surprised to note a registered historic site plaque mounted to the left of the front doors. The attendant opened both doors with a bit of flourish and stepped aside allowing us to enter. Curiously, he did not respond when we thanked him. As the attendant at the curb, he merely smiled and bobbed his head. With his arm raised and hand held out he gestured us to enter where we were greeted by yet another attendant. He was standing square to the doors in an elegant foyer. His appearance was identical to the two attendants we had just met except that his lapel button was gold. After welcoming us to the Hanover House he held out his hand to me for our invitation. After briefly scanning it he smiled, took the duplicate and handed back the original in its envelope. Sophie still had no idea what I had planned but trusted my judgment to have arranged a perfect ending to an otherwise perfect evening. At his urging we followed him as he took us into the residence proper.
He led us down the hall, past a parlor, then a library, past several closed doors to a barrel vaulted passageway opening to the right. As we turned in I noticed another, similarly attired attendant had taken up the station our attendant had vacated by the front doors. The dark paneling, subtle lighting and rich floor coverings in the passageway announced the elegance and reserved good taste of the House. It smelled of rubbed and polished wood, and leather. The next attendant met us in another foyer, standing in front of an entrance to a large lounge. He wore a gold lapel button similar to the one worn by our escort.
A short distance away stood a second attendant in conversation with other guests. Behind him was second entrance to the lounge. Because we had not seen any other guests since arriving I assumed they had entered through the courtyard. They were dressed more formally and elegantly than us. While I could not understand their conversation it seemed the attendant and they were familiar to each other. As their invitations changed hands I noticed their wax imprimaturs were red.
After handing us off our escort handed the duplicate invitation to the attendant, excused himself, and left. Our new attendant looked at the duplicate, placed it on a side table behind him and greeted us on behalf of the Hanover House. There were three stacks of invitations on the table. Ours was put on the left hand-most stack. The other stacks were smaller.
"You will notice there are three entrances leading from the lounge area behind me, each a different color. One matches the wax seal on your invitation, green. You are welcome to mingle with our patrons and help yourselves to food and beverages of your choice provided in the lounge. Your invitation indicates this is the first time you have visited us. Please do not feel isolated by your lack of familiarity with our protocols and returning patrons. More than a third of this evening's patrons are here for the first time, as well. Most of them will be in your theater.
"You are welcome to every part of the theater pavilion with one exception. The performers and stage areas may not be visited until after the evening's performances are complete. Thereafter, you may linger and engage the performers in their dressing and ready rooms and examine the stage and associated equipment. No beverages or food are allowed in the theater or its associated spaces at any time.
.... There is more of this story ...