The first time I drive over to his place I am more nervous than I have been on any other date so far. And understandably too – while we’ve agreed that I’m making an exploratory visit, I’m going to a total stranger’s house to potentially get restrained, flogged and fucked. But as The Husband points out while he excitedly helps me get ready, what’s the worst that can happen? As usual, I give him the address and for the first time, agree a code text message and time limit in case of any problems.
Bizarrely, Easy Rider lives 2 streets away from The Mechanic who I’m in the throes of a complete ‘boyfriend experience’ affair with. Although we’ve never really talked about exclusivity, I still feel kind of shifty as I pull up to Easy Rider’s place. I’ve even asked for him not to leave any marks this time as I have a Mechanic date the following night and haven’t quite worked out how to broach the subject with him yet.
I’m nervous and flustered as I ring the doorbell, with very little idea of what to expect. The run up has been unusually swift and the ground rules have been basic. He’s way more confident and a reassuring presence on his own turf. The house is cosily warm with music playing and incense burning. He leads me to the kitchen counter (again!) and pours me a glass of wine, stroking my hair, wrapping his arms around me and telling me to relax. He’s remarkably soothing.
I’m wearing a long wrap-over dress over a corset, stockings and no knickers, perched on the kitchen stool with a glass of wine in my hand. We make comfortable small talk as I start to compose myself. He kisses me confidently and I start to feel wobbly with anticipation as he caresses my tits and squeezes my nipples hard. But my nervousness increases my silly jokes and smartarse comments until he shoots me a stern look that literally makes my ovaries twitch. After kissing me hard, he disappears briefly returning with some adjustable nipple clamps which he slowly and deliberately attaches as I stay perched with my tits exposed, increasingly turned on.
I’m grinning stupidly as he leads me to the playroom and stands me against the St. Andrew’s Cross facing the wall and attaching a collar and leather cuffs to my wrists. My sniggers soon subside as he tries out a number of light flogging implements and eventually inserts the anal hook which he attaches with rope to the collar and gradually tightens. When he unties and turns me around, he’s naked with a huge hard on and a cheeky determined look on his face. He pushes me to my knees, grabbing my hair to shove his cock hard down my throat, making me gag and my eyes water. And just as I think he’s about to cum, he bends me over a horse structure and fucks me hard, telling me what a good slut I am. It’s so much fun.
But where I would usually collapse in a heap on a comfy bed at the end of a vigorous session, I’m left standing in the middle of the room, wobbly, vulnerable, and decidedly unsure what to do. I quickly return to the kitchen to retrieve my dress, cover up and finish my wine. He’s pleasant, but affectionate after-care doesn’t really seem to be in his skillset and I actually have to ask him to come over to my side of the counter to hug me.
He has taken some extremely hot creative photos of the proceedings to show The Husband. And before I go, he asks if I want a leaving present and fetches his favourite crop. I obediently lift my dress and bare my arse, bracing myself nervously. When it happens, I jump 3 feet in the air, yelling even more expletives than usual, and for a prolonged period of time until the initial shock starts to subside. He takes a glorious picture of my arse with a glowing red line all the way across before sending me on my merry way home looking completely wrecked and ravaged.