"Let's see," he mused, "what was my first exposure. I don't think I was, like, born with a whip in my hand or anything like that. I do remember when I was pretty young, like 12 or so, and I found this little comic book thing stuck between some old National Geographic magazines in my dad's closet. I think nobody was home at the time but me, and I was kind of snooping around in my parents' bedroom, probably looking for loose change to get a Good Humor bar.
"Anyway, I found this little booklet thing; it was a kind of comic book, I guess. Instead of Spiderman or Batman, there were these great drawings of this incredible Dominatrix, in latex thigh high boots and a little corset, wielding a whip over some cowering little worm of a guy. There was some lame dialog, I think, but I've forgotten it.
"I stole the comic book from my dad, who never came asking for it – surprise, surprise. He was definitely not the type to share anything like that with me, or anyone else. I never even saw him touch my mother, much less let her use a whip on his butt!" Paul laughed a little, and continued.
"Anyway, the pictures were very graphic; I mean, they caught the intense expressions on the characters' faces. That's what I remember. The way she looked so impossibly regal and magnificent, lording over that poor bastard.
"I identified totally with the Domme, not the guy. I thought how cool she was, and how I'd like to be in that position. I used it to masturbate with, with my flashlight under the covers like millions of boys before and after me, I'm sure.
"I never really did anything about it. I certainly didn't try anything with the few girls I dated in high school. But I remember freshman year at NYU, there were a lot of drugs at this particular party, and speed and pot were being freely passed around. I took some speed, smoked some dope, and felt really loose and uninhibited.
"There was this couple there, already 'into' the scene, into S amp;M and both dressed in leather. He told the crowd she was his slave and anyone who wanted to could whip her. He tied her hands up over a door and asked who was first. I got really turned on, and was so stoned I wasn't afraid to take the whip he offered.
"It was a big heavy flogger, the leather was dyed a bright red, I remember. She wasn't naked or anything; she was still in her leather vest and black leather pants. I wanted to pull her clothes off but he wasn't going for that. Still, it was so hot to whip her. She seemed to really get off on it, and I didn't want to stop.
"Everyone was crowding around, oohing and aahing. It was a weird scene. After a few minutes, he took her down and they went off into the bathroom, to fuck, no doubt. I'd been their 'foreplay' I guess you could say, but it got me hooked.
"After that I sought it out. I'd drop hints with girlfriends and see how they reacted. I always tried to playfully 'spank' them, and see how they responded. I didn't have the nerve to be more up front about it, but I'd 'test' them. Like, I'd hold their wrists above their heads during sex and see how they'd respond.
"A lot of girls were really into it. You'd be amazed how many women like to be spanked – at least playfully. But I had to be careful about going too far. I figured out after a while not to bring out the cuffs or rope too quick. That was too much for most girls, and they'd freak out.
"It's not like I was dating a million girls and tying them all up or anything. But I was always looking; the BDSM antennae always waving.
"There was this one girl, junior year, who liked me to tie her up and smack her around. We had great sex. Unfortunately, we didn't have much else in common. Her primary interests, other than sex with me, were horses and tennis. I don't think she ever read a book in her life, except when she had to for school. She was there on a tennis scholarship, and academics were incidental. But I do remember, before we broke up, she gave me a really great birthday present. It was an illustrated version of 'The Story of O,' you know, that classic S amp;M novel everybody gets a secret copy of in college."
"Maybe in New York City," Tracy replied. "Not down in Texas. I've heard of it, but I've never read it."
"Required reading, S amp;M 101," Paul said, laughing. "I'll have to get you a copy. It isn't really that great, I mean as a piece of literature, but there are some very hot scenes between Sir Stephen and O. O is his personal slave, or submissive. Her lover 'gave' her to him, to Sir Stephen. There's all this implied homosexuality between him and Sir Stephen, but we don't get to hear about any of that, but there are lots of hot bondage scenes. Like when he ties her to the chandelier in a hotel room, and has all these creepy guys take turns whipping every part of her totally naked body. She's gagged and tears are pouring out of her eyes, and he says something like, 'This gag will come in handy since we're in this public place. Usually I don't gag her. I like to hear her scream.' Something about that line always sent me over the edge. 'I like to hear her scream.' Man! Very good for one-handed reading, if you know what I mean."
"Sir Stephen! That's your Palace name."
"Give the lady a prize," Paul said, laughing. "But enough about me. You're probably asleep by now, listening to my boring stories."
"I could listen forever," Tracy assured him, and meant it.
Talking online and emailing Paul was wonderful, but Tracy wanted more. Like a starving child given a few bites of food, she realized she was ravenous for the experience, for the sensation of erotic pleasure and pain. She needed more than emails, more than a disembodied voice over the phone lines. She needed something tangible if she were ever to move past fantasy.
Paul understood her need, and though he never voiced it, longed to be the one to introduce her to these delicious pleasures. She had never once said to him, Paul, I wantyou to do these things to me. And though he knew he could have manipulated her into asking him, indeed, begging him, to come to her and have his way, he didn't want it that way. It had to come from her. It had to be her idea. She wasn't yet free for his claiming, but he was a patient man, and a realist. If she were to be his lover in fact, that love and submission would have to be offered without coercion or guile.
When Tracy told him of Guy's overtures, he was supportive and offered advice, forcing himself to think of Tracy and her desperate newfound need for discovery. He advised her, in a word, to 'go for it.'
CHAPTER 4
Still, Tracy waited another month before she decided to 'take the plunge.' She liked working with Guy. He treated her tellers with respect and always behaved like a complete gentleman at work. He continued to invite her to lunch occasionally, where he would tell her, in increasingly graphic detail, what he would do to her if they ever got together.
"I've got a lot of toys," he informed her. "Fun stuff like paddles and riding crops and whips and chains. We'd start out slow, of course. I'd just take you to the level you could handle. Maybe just a teeny tiny bit further." Tracy always shivered when he said this. She realized it was a matter of time before she said yes, and agreed to meet him.
Earlier in the week she had finally agreed to a rendezvous that Friday afternoon, when the rest of the 'gang' were at happy hour. Tracy hadn't told anyone else where she was going. It was fine for Paul to advise that, but who in the world could she tell? Tracy realized sadly that she really didn't have any close girlfriends. Her focus for so many years had been Kyle, and only Kyle. She had considered it romantic that they were all they needed. Not that it was his fault, but there it was.
Guy passed by her desk and laid his loan folder on it, telling her in a professional tone that the papers she needed were all inside. After he'd walked away, she opened the folder and saw the little envelope, which contained a key. The key to the motel they had agreed upon a few miles from the bank, which she could reach from her bus stop.