First Scene

It takes us about 35 minutes to make our way from V's house to L.C. During the ride, V leans into me, holding my hand throughout the entire trip.

"Have you ever been to a BDSM Club V?"

"No, I seldom go out. Mostly to the store, my doctor, errands, my job."

"Are you free to travel? I'd love to take you to the Fetish Flea Market in Boston next month. There's also the Folsom Street Fair in San Fransisco, the Vault in New York, Bondage-A-Go Go, the Ram Rod and Boston Dungeon also in Boston. You can meet others, scene publicly, attend demos or just mingle and soak up the Karma."

"I'm happy just be with you-but yea, I'm free to travel."

Despite the early hours, the parking lot at L.C. is nearly full. Because we're a couple, admission is at a reduced rate. V is in black slacks with a matching black turtle neck. Entering through the bar, J the owner stops me and asks what were drinking tonight? V asks for a Bailey's and I ask for a double Stoli in a wineglass with a tonic and a lime twist. J wants to know when I can give another lecture on BDSM and the Law? January I tell him: "Put me on the calendar."

J grabs our drinks and shows us to our table. The L.C. is a combination bar and performance area. It is fully equiped with a hoist for suspension scenes, two wooden horses, a St. John's Cross, a spanking kneeler, a medical examing table, stocks and a gyno chair. The walls carry a variety of whips, cats, floogers, ropes and wrist and ankle cuffs. The place is dark with only the stage and the accroutements in the spotlights. On stage a thin woman is nude in the stocks with her partner giving her a mild whipping. Het face is set in a grimace and crys out each time the flogger lands.

"That doesn't look so bad. Isn't it supposed to hurt a little bit," V asks?

"Um yea V! The man is using an elk skin flogger. The strands are about as a heavy as some strips of cotton. It is sorta the equivalent of of being spanked with duster," I laugh.

The scene goes on until the woman feigns collapse. Two women rush to assist her as the man releases her from the stocks. Bent over groaning, the woman takes a seat at a table in the main area as her friends fawn over her.

"B there's a woman at the bar staring at us."

I turn and lock eyes with a woman I had previously scened with staring at us. I feel the heat of her hatred across the space between us. That's D I tell V. I relate my past experience with her and will save the telling of that story for another time and post dear reader. Eyes remaining locked, I smile at D as I massage V's neck.

I left an hour early for the 10:00 A.M. meeting and cruised her house a half dozen times before she left. She made three false starts, returning home each time to change her clothes. After I was confident that she was in route, I cut through some sides streets to reach the bookstore in advance of her arrival. I parked back in against a high wall on one end of the B & N store.

She parked in the middle of the lot, locked her car and chain smoked three Marlboro's before entering B & N. In her mid thirties V was blond, 5'4" with a lean swimmer's build. Her skin was porcelain, almost translucent with brown eyes. She wore a Bean fleece, dark blue with grey tweed slacks and Ecco ties. No make up ( I prefer the natural look) and no jewelry. She gave the appearance of a W.H. soccer mom (I have no desire to Top Goth girls) and was to me quite attractive.

I entered directly behind her stopping to browse at the current fiction release. B & N as you know dear readers, typically is large store with a coffee bar and racks of magazines with the majority of the books grouped by category. She wandered searching for the erotica section but spent just as much time appraising the men in the store-hoping to perhaps identify me before locating the right section.

"Screw the Roses-Give me the Thorns" is an oversized book and maintained on the top shelf. She struggled to reach it as I walked up behind her. "A wise choice to begin your exploration with V. Wait I can reach it for you." She froze in place and with one hand the middle of her back, I reached up, secured the book and handed it to her. Up close she was even more attractive than from a distance. Her face was devoid of expression and took not only the book but both of my hands with a strong grip. She stared at me, saying nothing. We were face to face-inches apart both silent-staring into each other's eyes.

I long ago learned the value of silence. She squeezed harder and finally said: "I can't believe you're here."

"Disappointed V?"

"Goodness no. Why would you think that?"

"Just checking."

With the silence broken, we spent the next twenty minutes looking at books. V kept hold of at least one of my hands during the entire time I selected three books for her reading. Molly Devon of course, Laura Antoniou (essays) and a Pat Califia collection of short stories. I bought two coffees (both black) and a double chocolate brownie for V. I later learned dear reader that V subsisted on black coffee, chocolate frosted chocolate donuts and little else in large part due to financial limitations(she was on Medicare disability for her bi-polarism and her ex kept her in financial bondage-routinely failing to pay her court order alimony-I changed all that but I am getting ahead of myself) and collected bottles for cigarettes, gas, coffee and donuts.

We eventually retreated to the front seat of her Pontiac. For the most part she was silent and clung to me-refusing to let go. I stroked the back of her neck, at times with enough strength to make anyone wince. She however pushed into my ministrations, sighing at times in pleasure and fixated on some point outside the car. My hands roamed across her shoulders and could find no bra straps. She finally stripped herself of the fleece revealing a purple Henley and erect nipples. Free of the fleece, she devoured the brownie.

I told her to release the seat back into the horizontal and place her arms over the seat and grasp the head restraint. She gasp, knowing I believe what was coming. By then, the day had grown dark gray and rainy and despite the busy parking lot we had total privacy.

I ranged under her Henley-my fingers playing with either side of her chest-lightly-as soft as a gentle summer breeze-at other times barely brushing her nipples. She trembled, goose bumps appearing everywhere and shuddered and moaned from my soft touch. I went below the waist line of her slacks-stopping just at the start of her pubic line-gentle slow and with a purposeful avoidance of any direct contact to either her nipples or her labia. The smell of her sex was pervasive. At times she mewed, arching her back she sought more direct contact. I frustrated her attempts and after nearly forty minutes with drew my hands recognizing she was close to climax.

"Enough for now V."

"No" she screamed, "you can't leave."

"We'll meet again-we've only just begun."

"When?"

"Saturday night at seven. I'll pick you up at your house, I'll take you to a club on the B Turnpike called L.C. It's a BDSM club. We can watch the people and after you've read these books and watched and you've learned, if you want, we can do a scene."

"Ok" said so reluctantly she looked liked she was on her way to her execution, "you promise?"

"Yes" as I exited the car.

I stood in the freezing rain and watched her drive off-never asking me how I knew where to pick her up.

We talk for hours. At times her breathing is shallow and punctuated with gasps and moans-at other times there is silence and not even static can be heard through the receiver. I describe everything in the gear bag and their use-dildoes and plugs-inflatable plugs-floggers-paddles-whips-clamps-straps-TENs unit-vibes-sterile needles-tawes-wurtenberg-gags-O rings-canes-rods-sounds-sparklers-spreader bars-chains-pinions-clothes pins-lubes-plumber's candles-hemostats-rubber bands and even the contents of my safety kit-paper bags-bandage scissors-benadryl etc. At the end she's breathless but relentless in demanding to know when we can meet so she can bottom for me.

I tell V that despite her enthusiasm, it is prudent that we first meet in a public place. She doesn't know me-know anything about me and can't even be sure I won't harm her or even that I'm not a serial killer. I also explain to her the need to establish a safe call system. I also lecture her on the need for safety (even to the extent that if she's not safe-I'm not safe and that I do so love my safety) and that recklessness on the part of my partner gives me reason to pause.

We make a date to meet at a local Border and Books in the erotica section for 10:00 A.M. the next day. I instruct her to pick up a copy of "Screw the Roses Give Me the Thorns" and that I'll know it's her.

A word about safety dear readers. I am an attorney by trade and once V had given me her phone number, I had the keys to her kingdom. A reverse directory look up gave me her name and address. From there a search of public records revealed her license plate number and the make and model of the car she drove. I uncovered her mortgage, the date of her divorce-school records-that she was unemployed and owned a Jack Russell terrier. I also established who her husband was-the business he owned-the identity of his new wife-his court records and even that her father had been a well known physician in the metro area.

Bear in mind that I gathered all this information for my own safety. Were I a stalker or that serial killer I had lectured her about-I could have amassed the same personal information and used it for my own purposes. During the telephone call and the resulting comparison of public information, it was also clear that V failed to be truthful about her real identity, her employment status and the town she lived in. Armed with the information I did have however, I planned to "stake" her out an hour before she would reasonably be expected to leave for our meeting at 10.