Trust Me to Know You (11 page)

The perfect kinky dungeon.

Oh, I had seen rooms like this before, but not this elegant. Beautifully arranged and with tasteful furnishings even if they were for unusual purposes. I tracked my eyes round the room. There were no windows, however,
the ceiling was high enough not to give the room a claustrophobic atmosphere. The ceiling had a metal grid of small bars horizontally attached and suspended down from it. The
re was the equipment hanging on the walls, the whipping bench based on the sawhorse design, a gigantic four poster bed, the padded fucking table with rounded edges, the polished St Andrews wooden cross by the far wall, low level chests of drawers and the velvet divan in the centre of the room. It was all there, the complete set up.

He was looking attentively at me, gauging my reaction.

I turned to face him and my face remained fixed in an expression of amazement. The door had shut behind him.

“Yes, you see I am the master of this house in more than one way.”

My ears pricked up at the tone of his voice. Jason looked so cool and very dominating to me - why had I not seen this before?

No smile. His face was not giving any emotion away. “And I know I’m looking at my secret sub.”

He knew
all along! How long had he known?

“Gone on, babe, have good look round.”

I touched with my fingertips, my nervousness gone.
I was buzzing with reawakening desires. I opened a drawer in the chest and its contents were neatly arranged in foam moulding, clean and pristine. Jason was leaning against the wall following me with his eyes and I knew he could sense my excitement. The hooks on the wall held an extensive range of whips, canes and straps, some look vicious. The poster bed had no canopy or drapes, although I could see a multitude of
rings and hooks attached to it. The sheets were a pale crimson red. The cross looked intimidating and the cool
wood was smooth to touch. The padded sawhorse bench had black leather on top and its legs had cuffs attached at the base. I
did not touch it, shying away from it. Glancing to Jason I wondered if he had noticed my reticence.

All the furniture looked custom made for him and expensive, not the handmade rubbish I had been tied to in the past. On one wall there was a smoked glass door, peering through it, I saw a large bathroom with white tiled floor and black tiled walls. The main room smelt clean and faintly perfumed. N
o evidence of the familiar aroma of stale body sweat that I would expect. I turned to Jason who
had not moved.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t tell me before? You’ve had this... this... lair tucked away all this time. I’ve been dreading you finding out about me,” I was exasperated all of a sudden.

“You like my playspace then. Come let’s go to my study and talk. Honesty now,” he opened the door and took my hand.

Sitting in two opposing armchairs, we faced each other. Bizarre fantasies rush through my head,
visions of myself tied down or prostrate on the floor before him. I was desperate for him to take me there and then, just knowing what he was and what it meant to me. Was that what he wanted from me? His
hushed but clear voice brought me back to earth.

“I’ve been a dominant for ten years,” Jason started his story. “I’m wealthy, therefore it’s easy to keep quiet about my lifestyle. Money buys silence and privacy. I’m a member of an exclusive club and
we only use the most vetted submissives. They are very obliging, however they are shared and I would prefer monogamy. Sometimes I’ve acquired my own subs or used escort agencies for longer term routine arrangements and occasionally I’ve tried conventional relationships but none of them last long. Now I w
ant to settle down, have a long-term relationship with
a partner who will meet my particular requirements. Therefore I started to make enquiries.”

He looked directly at me and I could not hold his gaze, I felt much more comfortable looking at my feet.

“Your name was one I heard on the grapevine, but you were, I think, in a relationship so I backed off. I tried a couple of others but they were uninteresting out of bed, they went their way quickly. Then I was in a HR meeting and your name cropped up as a potential intern. I don’t usually bother with such trivial appointments. I checked out your background and decided I would break my rules. You’ve done well at your job, whatever happens, you’ll always get a good testimonial from me.”

Why did he need to set my mind at rest?

He continued as I put aside my doubts. “I decided to go for the vanilla approach, I wanted to get to know you without the Dom/sub thing interfering. I didn’t want to scare you off, even though you’ve done stuff before.”

I fidgeted a bit. Where was he going to take me?

“You impressed me, your work, demeanour, discretion and above all your fucking.” He reached forward and touched my knee. “You’re really hot in bed, Gem.” He tipped my face up making me look into his incredible blue eyes.

“You’re not bad yourself, Jason,” I tempted a smile back at him, my voice mocking slightly.

He frowned for a moment, and then recovered his composure.

“So I have a proposal. I want to go the full thing with you. You will be my submissive and I will be your dominant. We’ll try it out over a few weekends.”

I gasped.
He wanted me as his submissive!
The nature of the conversation was becoming better by the minute.

Jason’s stern face brought me back down to earth.

“However,
there is one thing I need to know from you. Why did you leave your job and everything? You’ve not been seen in any clubs for months. What happened
, Gem? Why have you been celibate? The gossip is you had a bad master.”

I did not know how he knew all about my previous relationship but he was close to the truth and I needed to relieve myself of all my secrets. They were hindering my ability to progress further with Jason.

“Yes you’re right about me. I’ve always been submissive, at least in handing over control for sex. Couldn’t cope at university
with all those immature idiots. I found it difficult to relax and be myself with men. The best relationships were with the controlling types, not in a freaky way, just in bed department. Letting someone direct me, emotionally and physically, gave me the confidence and escapism that I lacked using my own initiative.
Eventually came the kinky side, the thrill of being tied up or spanked.
”

I shut my eyes for a moment as I drifted back in time. An image of my younger naive self-materialised and I saw how much I had changed in those few years.

“I got into the play easily. I had been lucky with my first master. He was very kind and quite old for me. He showed me the basics. H
ow to do scenes and built me up gradually. He instilled in me the obedience and desire to please others. I learnt a lot about myself from him. The dynamics of submission. The power exchange and connection with the dominant. I immediately felt an energy with him, even though I wasn’t in love. The simplest non-sexual acts became erotic and enticing.
Couldn’t ask for a better start. Then he wanted me to move on, he suggested
I needed younger men. They
had different needs he told me,
more adventurous, modern. So I started to swap and moved about. Some were just one scene tricks in clubs or I went to the doms’ houses for a few hours in the evening. Others, well
, four
of them were serious and longer term relationships. Then he came and it all went wrong
.”

I stopped and looked at Jason.

He was listening intently, one leg resting over the other with a finger on his lips - a shrink like pose I thought.

“OK, Gemma, go on. You’re doing alright,” he said encouragingly.

“He was real nice at first. A kind of gentle giant. Great sex,” I paused, but Jason was not
perturbed by this confession. “Kind of romantic at the
beginning. Odd traditional quirks about him I failed to pick up on. He didn’t do anal sex -
said it was for queers and he hated gays. We would argue about women’s rights, you know, women should stay at home to look after their men. All the same, I was enticed by him, became blasé and my judgement suffered. Then he got possessive, not just when we’re together. Phone calls, emails, constantly checking up on me. He was unpleasantly demanding
, wanting me available 24/7, which I wasn’t prepared to do.”

Recounting that night was so difficult, the nausea rose in my mouth, there was a sensation of panic building in me. If Jason
had not been sitting there I would be resisting those images and forcing my memories into their cubby
hole, their little hiding place at the back of my mind.
Every time I had tried to recall the dreadful man, I had disengaged, scribbled over his face with my mental black marker pen. E
verything had to be forgotten or at best distorted into a bearable memory. Jason was forcing me to reconstruct a night in my life I had spent months ignoring and dissociating my rational, sane
psyche
from recalling. I had to do this, start to remember and deal with my horrors. I had to trust Jason to help me not go crazy. I could so easily go mad.

“Go on. You’re safe here,” Jason’s voice covered up the other one
whom sometimes visited me.

“I felt like I was drowning. I came to his for a regular night together. He was really pissed at me. I don’t know why, I still don’t know why.
I don’t remember the details well. But he was my master so I accept it. He takes me to the garage – that’s where we
did
the stuff. It looks nothing like your lair. I should
have spotted the warning signs: the tatty furniture and lack of hygiene. I was lucky he didn’t make me ill.” My heart was pounding thumping.

“Keep going, babe,” Jason’s tone was so reassuring.

I shut my eyes. The memories were growing colourful and vivid.

“He ties me over this…. his wooden sawhorse bench, no padding on
it or anything. He has a cane… not the usual thin one….
it’s thick like a rattan cane. He had modified it by winding wire around it.” My vision blurred and refused to focus, in its place I heard sounds. “Heavy too,
I can hear him swish in the air.
It hurt so much
. I knew, after the first two,
I was going to safe-word him if he continued to hit me. His actions
… were intentional. He knew how to hurt as much as how to please. Two more and I screamed the word out.”

I ground to a halt with my recollection. I knew the tears were coming; the barricade, which held them back, was failing.

“He
ignored
it”. I looked at Jason and
his face was impassive, unreadable. “He runs at me with the cane, a full sweep and it strikes me so hard I know I’m cut. Then I fainted. When I come to, he’s standing there. He’s holding his, his...”

“I know, gone on you’re almost done.”

“It’s limp. It wasn’t when he was caning me. Then I sense that burning sensation inside me. My bum was on fire with pain, but I know there was another soreness, deep within. He’s looking really pleased with himself. He tells me,” My voice broke. “That I was a fantastic fuck,” I collapsed in sobs.

Jason was there now holding me in his arms, as I racked my body with uncontrollable tears. He held me, not too tight and stroked my hair.

“Gemma, Gemma, it’s alright. Look at me,” he took me gently by my arms, kneeling in front of me.

“I would never,
never
, hurt you like that ever,” his voice was decisive and direct. I believed him utterly. “They were the scars I saw, the thin white ones?”

I nodded in acknowledgement. My mouth was bitter and dry.

“Did he let you go then?”

“Later, though he didn’t touch me again. He had been too drunk, busy celebrating his conquest and he was full of triumph over my punishment....”

Jason stopped my mouth with his finger, stroking my face with his palms.

“No, not punishment. I don’t want you to think what he did was a punishment. Punishments don’t mean breaking your agreed limits. Punishments are not done in the heat of emotion or aggression. Punishment is agreed to by both parties and they don’t result in serious injuries. Nothing you described isn’t anything other than abuse, non-consensual. A criminal offence. Yes? OK?” he said clearly.

“Yes I know,” saying it let all the tension out of me.

The sobs were drying up now. “I went home and was really sick. A friend came by and she was concerned, but I wouldn’t go to hospital. She asked about and this other sub came to see me, I recognised her face. Turned out she was a doctor. She was very kind, cleaned me up and gave me antibiotics. She said it would scar because it had gone deep and that I would need to keep still if it was to heal properly. I couldn’t face work. I couldn’t sit for fuck’s sake. So I resigned. The doctor came back and checked on me regular, and said I should get counselling, but I told myself I was going to be fine. That my experience was bad luck. Y
ou know, a bad apple in amongst the good ones. She did tests and reassured me that I wasn’t carrying anything unpleasant from my time with him. He was my last fuck, so I knew I was clean for
you.”

Jason stroked his finger down my face. “You’re very conscientious,” he said kindly.

“Then you came along.” I hugged my knees, relieved the secret was all out in the open.

“You don’t know how many times I trekked down past that damn photocopier waiting to catch you in the flesh. Then there you were, helping me out. Bending over fiddling with things, I could have fucked you there and then. You are a sexy thing, you know that don’t you? I knew you had had a bad time, not the details. What was his name, the man who hurt you?”

I told him. I think I could guess what Jason would do with that information.

“Earlier in the week, when you….”

“Freaked out in the street?” I said.

He had remembered.