We had met at a munch.

It was winter, and even though you were rugged up, your poise and the twinkle in your eye had caught my attention. “She needs something special” Kat had said. You had said that we were all looking for someone, but that day we found each other.

Things moved fast. To me, the perfect relationship would have evolved much slower, but suddenly you needed someone to pay the other half of the rent. It seemed to work.

As with all new relationships, it was fun. Exciting. Intimate. We had a mutual interest in dominance and submission. In your head I was sure you had it all planned out. You left plenty of clues, and strategically introduced me to the right people, highlighting the aspects of their relationship you were most interested in. I feigned an air of indifference.

In my mind, there is nothing more enjoyable and rewarding than a long slow build. Kind of like the frog and the pot of heated water. Time to adjust, with a gradual series of ‘new norms’. A ramping up of expectations and obligations. Surprise at new achievements - like the time you surprised yourself by deep throating for the first time. I often got the feeling that this wasn’t a pace you liked.

One day things would come to a head - you would realise the water was boiling. At the time, you wouldn’t realise it, but it wouldn’t be the end of the road. Merely another false summit before moving to a larger pot, but it would create a new norm.

I had the broad brush strokes of a ‘moment’. It was intended to ‘formalise’ the relationship - create a pathway for you to clearly define roles and expectations, along with a way for you to create momentum towards what was clearly something you were attracted to - a semi permanent collar. It was all about giving you options and control.

I say semi-permanent, but I had always felt that if it was done right, it wouldn’t ever come off. One of the couples you had introduced me to had made a semi-permanent collar work - he had worn her collar for a year. The gleam in your eye had told me everything.

It would have started with a simple request.

It sounded great. In my mind.

Come with me.

You used to love to sprawl on the couch. Next to the bookshelves, it was your happy place. Laptop. iPhone. Harry Potter. Tumblr. Ham steak and sweet potato. All a growing girl needs. You would stand. A degree of confusion in your eyes, but more of a ‘what are you up to now’, as opposed to a ‘he has finally cracked, I need to get out now’. I would take your hand.

To the bedroom, at the end of the hall. Cool, but not cold. Through an open door. Turning to face me. Curiosity.

Strip.

A moment of hesitation. Pupils dilating as your realised. You would pause. Unexpected. Nostrils flaring as you tried to figure out if the words matched your perception. Impatient, I would roughly grabbed your your top. Arms up. Confusion still in your eyes as they reappeared. Then you would figure it out.

Naked. Spectacular. You worried about your weight. I think you often didn’t realise how often bravado was substituted for confidence - I had been alone for a long time. Naked, I didn’t care. Boobies. Oh. Yes. Big nipples. So juicy.

Salivating. Pointed to the ground.

Kneel.

A moment of hesitation, then rushing to obey. Good girls obey.

As to be expected, a juicy girl eagerly seeking direction. Moistening. Fantasied about countless times, you only needed minor correction to your posture. Knees as far apart as possible. Sexy butt off heels. Wrists crossed just above those delightful dimples. Chin up. Eyes down.

Oh. Yes. Erection town. You want to nuzzle.

STAY.

I imagined you shuddering. Like a tuning fork, humming with desire. Wanting. Needing. Disappointed. Waiting. Impatience. Getting the courage to look up and around. Horny, but wondering. A test? Ears straining. Furniture being moved. The humiliation of being ignored. A quiet moan.

Footsteps. Sharpening your posture. Slouch gone. Ends of your mouth turning up. SHOWTIME.

Looking but not looking. Eyes down, but not looking down.

Cuffs. You swallow. Dangling nonchalantly. Queue swampy.

Hair. A fistful of hair. Not something a well adjusted modern man should have a fist of. Tugging. Leading. Impatient to see if reality could match fantasy. Straining. Pants too tight. Stopping at the end of the hall. Pausing. Adjusting.

A table. Low. Usually covered with books, laptop, phones. Stuff.

Cleared. Three pillows. Deep breath.

Eyes blinking. Unexpected. Moving. Stopping. Kneeling on folded blanket. Confused.

Realisation.

Juicy town. Swamp o’clock. Shuddering. O. M. G. Countries have been invaded for less. Contrast between naked and clothed. Kneeling. Slight chill. Nipples harder than they have ever been before. Almost painful. Panting. Just how turned on can you get without being touched?

Three pillows. Rings. Lace. Collars. Cuffs. Eyes swivelling.