We reached Diane’s apartment and her door clicked behind us. We were in Diane’s world, or at least her living room, and the world was outside, far away. There was a couch, an armchair and a long low wooden coffee table.
I’d fucked her on each one of those items. And I’d burnt her knees on the carpet. So there was a sense that we were back in our proper place: a room we had sex in, and where Diane was often mildly and deliberately hurt. So Diane was under my direction in this room, and in my power. She hoped. She turned and looked at me. “Sir? Would you like me to take my shirt off?”
But I wasn’t quite in my place yet. I was just in over my head. Fortunately, a dom can always bluff. “When I tell you, Diane. First, that rope by your bed. Get it. Fetch it. Bring it here.” I smacked her thigh.
I smacked her thigh again, as though it was her fault that I’d given her an order I hadn’t thought through. It was unfair but Diane wanted me to be leading and in the right.
“Oh. Sorry, Sir.” Diane put her bundle of switches on the coffee table, frowning.
I caught most of her hair in one handful to pull her upright. I smacked her bottom twice, three times, and then kissed her. “Now go!”
I was still making this up as I went along, but I was starting to find the way forward. Diane went.