At first, she was surprised by how much they had to talk about it. She was a little annoyed too, if she was being perfectly honest. After the initial attraction, that fateful day when she handed him the green riding crop in her car and saw the animal behind his eyes, things slowed way down. He became distant at first, but eventually, even he couldn’t deny the magnetic pull they experienced in each other’s presence. Then, there was the elevator. When he grabbed her, and pulled her head back, it was like her skin crackled with electricity under his hands. She spent the rest of the day painfully aware of the silky wetness between her legs.
From there though, it slowed way, way down. He was nothing if not controlled and cautious. He alluded rather than said. He insinuated that she would probably not be interested in his more, exotic, tastes. “Try me,” was her response. Finally, he relented and told her the whole story. About his training at the hands of an older woman; an authority figure. He told her how he had discovered that his hands were his best asset. They were strong from years of football, baseball, wrestling, skiing, and bull riding. Despite his soft profession, his hands had maintained their strength (her experience in the elevator could attest to that), and he knew how to use them. He could make them a source of pain, or of pleasure. A punishment, or a reward. He could twitch his fingers, find the right spots, and induce orgasm after orgasm. Or, alternatively, he could bend someone’s arm behind them, and force their face into the bed or ground. It just depended.
He explained that his greatest gift was finding the best in others. This took a great deal of time though. Sure, he could tie someone up and walk them through a basic dominance scene, with all the whips, degradation, and pornographic language you could want, but that felt hollow. No, if you wanted a real scene, it had to be customized, and that took time. Lots of time. He needed to get to know his partner better than they knew themselves. With the people he cared about, he wanted his scenes to be transcendent experiences. To be more than just fucking. It was about growth, and pushing yourself to the maximum potential. And that took planning.
She was eager to get started. At first, they just talked. He asked her all about her. Not just her sexual history, but her hopes, fears, and daily life. He wanted to know what she thought about when she woke up, and what kept her awake at night. He asked her about her family, and her hobbies. He listened as she explained her life philosophy. Slowly, but with great clarity, a picture emerged for him. She wanted to trust. She wanted to put her faith in someone, and have it rewarded. To relinquish control with the certainty that she was not only going to be kept safe, but to experience something greater as a result.
Now, as they stood here in his basement, she was finally going to see whether she could trust enough to let go of control. To put her faith in this man who had captured her attention and, without ever being forceful or domineering, her trust. What she didn’t know was that he had already been building the scene. That all of the talking had been for the purpose of making her totally at ease while in his power, and to build anticipation of his touch. Everything is sweeter with delayed gratification.
“What I am about to show you is for your eyes only,” he said as he opened a locked door in the basement of his home. She knew what was behind the door. He had explained it in great detail, to prevent her from being shocked when she was finally allowed to open the door. That was the wrong type of fear, he told her. Despite his warnings, or maybe because of them, she was quivering with anticipation as the door swung open on silent, internal, hinges.
She was not disappointed. The room was clearly a repurposed basement bedroom. He described it as his sanctuary, and as her eyes adjusted to the low light, she realized that was exactly right. The room reflected its master. It was disciplined, but quirky, and clearly customized to his preferences. The windows were covered in heavy, deep-red curtains, so that what little natural light remained from the waning autumn sun was blocked. The light came from two wall sconces, high above both sides of a queen sized bed that was centered on the wall on the far side of the room. They were fashioned from what looked like iron, in a severe three prong design, which cradled frosted glass and a low watt light bulb. They cast the room in shadows that were simultaneously threatening and sensuous.
The walls of the room were a surprise. The room had waist high wainscot paneling in a darkly stained, wide grained wood. Hickory, from the looks of it. Like gunstocks. The drywall above had a panel texture, and was painted a warm tan, almost umber color. It would have been inviting in a comfortable, albeit very masculine, study. As she looked around the room though, she noted that there were hooks, rings and carabineers strategically inserted into the studs above the wainscoting. They were all black, metal, and looked very permanent.
As she looked up, she noted that the ceiling of the room was higher than she had expected; at least nine feet. It was crisscrossed by dark, wooden beams from which hung a new spectrum of hooks, rings, pulleys, and other devices she couldn’t readily name. All of them were on tracks, and looked like they could be moved as the situation demanded. It made her stomach flutter just to see the variety, and know that there was probably an infinite way each and every tool could be used.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/36et54/the_animal_within_part_4_critiques_welcome