With this post I begin a little series, of interest probably to no-one but myself, of past adventures which I could have – but in most cases, never really – had. But I shall remember them always.

He sent me a message, one day, out of the blue. “Would you like to go out for a drink with the most sophisticated dom on fetlife?”

I don’t care much about sophistication, to be honest. It was the brazen, straight-to-the-point boldness of his message which convinced me. That, and the fact that he was a “dom on fetlife”, of course.

500969680_model_1_editWe had a brief flirtation via SMS, which was very enjoyable, with the perfect balance of witty banter and sexual innuendo.‎ He was very confident – I liked that. He gave me the address of a 5-star hotel, and told me to meet him at the bottom of the winding marble staircase. I wore a sleeveless black dress, which could pass as a plain black skirt with a sweater on top during the day, but quickly transform into elegant evening attire with a few simple accessories – my standard Superman move.

I was looking pretty good that night, I thought. So I walked down the marble staircase quite confidently. I could see him sitting on a chaise-longue at the bottom, waiting for me, dressed in a well-tailored suit. As one would expect. I sat beside him, smiling nervously. He was tall, dark-haired, with long, thin fingers. He smiled affably and we began to talk. It turned out he worked at a bank which I knew very well – it was where I had gotten my start. A couple of times, he attempted to put his hand on my leg, but I shied away every time.

Eventually, he told me to get up, and follow him. He led me by the hand to a bathroom, pushed me in, and locked the door. Then he grabbed hold of my hair, and, using it to bend me over and push my head into the sink with one hand, he lifted up my skirt with the other and began to spank me, hard. I cried out in pain, shocked and alarmed. I wasn’t used to this – it really hurt. Then he pushed his fingers into my mouth. I still remember the musky taste of his skin. Finally, he swung me around, forced me to my knees, unzipped his pants, and made me take him in my mouth…

I was shocked and horrified – I had been this intimate with only two other men in the 14 years preceding this event! And he was strangely unaroused by my lips around his member – that was something new and inexplicable to me. After a few moments… I told him I couldn’t go through with it. ‎He pulled me up, zipped up his pants and led me back out of the bathroom.

“Let’s go have that drink, then,” he said.

We went upstairs to the lavish hotel bar and ordered a couple of wildly expensive cocktails. Strangely, after the bathroom debacle, and even though – or perhaps because – it was clear to us both that nothing more would transpire between us, I now felt completely relaxed and comfortable with him, and we chatted together like old friends. He was French, but completely bilingual, speaking just as fluidly in either tongue.

“What happened in there?” he asked me, gently. “I thought that was what you wanted. Was I wrong?”

“No,” I said hesitantly, feeling ashamed. “It was what I wanted. But…”

At his prompting, I began to explain my situation. He listened sympathetically, and then shared his own, not dissimilar to mine. We had a lot in common. He was much more experienced than me, however. It seemed he maintained a room in the hotel on a semi-permanent basis, in which to conduct his clandestine adventures. He had a penchant for East Asian women. (“Why?” I asked. “They’re more submissive,” he told me. “And they like pain.”)

He walked me to the station, as a true gentleman would, and kissed me formally on both cheeks as we parted.

“Will I see you again?” he smiled wryly, knowing the answer.

“Maybe,” I said, with a deliberate lack of conviction. I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression.

He sent me a text message later that night, to say he’d had a lovely evening. He didn’t push me or press me to meet him again. I hadn’t told him I was 4 months pregnant.

I heard from him again, a couple of years later – just a brief line, somewhat less gentlemanly than he had been before. It made me smile. But I didn’t write back.

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3 thoughts on “Time, You Thief – Part I

  1. Now this was fun to read! The inquisitive, shy, almost ingenue lilnue. I’m surprised you did not take up with him those few years later. At the least, it would have meant good blog fodder

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      1. I’ve always liked Leigh Hunt as a minor but cheerful poet. And it’s weird, but I’ve never kissed a girl called Jenny. So time, that giver, might gift me that some time. I’d be fascinated to know what school you went to.

        As for the Frenchman, well, it does seem that if he had the decency to spank you, and you gave him head, the least he could have done is managed an erection.

        I suppose, to be fair to the man, giving someone a spanking and then finding they didn’t enjoy it means you spend a bit of time working out where you went wrong. That’s an important thing to do but terribly unarousing. Domming is a confidence trick, by and large; a good one and in a sense altruistic, but it certainly requires confidence. And the knowledge that you’ve just fucked up can remove some confidence.

        Obviously the trick is to bluff your way along until things are working again. But it just may not have been his day. Poor you. Both of you, for different reasons.

        Are you ever in London? I am, in the second week of July. I’d happily shout a poetic girl lunch, if you happened to be about, hungry, and anxious for antipodean gossip.

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