Here be monsters (not for the meek)

On old maps of the world, uncharted territories were labelled as the dwelling place of monsters. The places Henry took me to would likely strike fear into the hearts of the meek, but they fascinated and excited me, more so than I ever could have imagined.

When I think about it, it was unreal, surreal even, and that was part of its appeal. I had never before frequented the type of motel that had mirrors on the ceiling or the wall or both. In fact, if someone had asked me, I’d have said they didn’t really exist. But I grew to like such places – the seedier the better – and, if anything, I was somewhat disappointed the times we met in more upmarket establishments that didn’t have the requisite looking glass.

More daring were the semi-public and public places – the ‘VIP section’ of the triple-X cinema, the roof of a docks building or the parking lot at the park, or driving round in the car in broad daylight, a vibrator pressed between my legs.

Ah, yes, the props: On our first playdate, scant days after the lunch in the park, I found my presence requested at a certain time, wearing a certain colour. It was liberating to not even have to think about what to wear. I didn’t have to think about anything. He told me what to do, or else he just did. That first time I was treated to fur-lined handcuffs and clamps with fine chains attached. The second time, it was a blindfold, ropework and different insertable toys. As our relationship grew, and he discovered more about me, my body and its reactions, (as did I), he made a flogger from soft rope to tease me mercilessly until my body literally melted in anticipation. And then there was the riding crop he used with just enough force to redden my cheeks and start my abdominal muscles spasming, or the candle wax that dripped from just the right height to shock but not burn, or the heavy chain whose large cold links soothed the heat between my breasts and pressed threateningly against my windpipe.

And all the while he talked to me. His voice calmed me when I was apprehensive, excited me as I waited in anticipation, encouraged me when I hesitated. His voice and his words were the embodiment of his steadfastness, the assurance that I was protected, that enabled me to push those boundaries time and again.

Some have asked me how I could let myself be ‘used’ in this way. I tried to explain it, searching for words with other women who seek out the same experiences, but men, especially, found it difficult to accept. In the end, I wrote a story. (If you are over 18, you can read it here.) Women might understand it better if I simply say that once a week, for three hours, I was a princess, the sole object of attention of my lover. What’s more, for those three hours, I concentrated on nothing else but my own pleasure. This was indeed terra quasi incognita.

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