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As I walk on, circling him, I reach over, pull a chair close behind him, and sit. Over his shoulder, I see our reflection in the mirror. He’s looking too, and it’s the perfect image of woman and lover.
I trace one hand down his back. His muscles ripple and I know he’s longing for more, for a more vivid assault on his senses: the whip. Making him wait, I sit back in the chair, lift my foot, and rest one stiletto heel between his shoulder blades, edging him forward. He pivots against it and groans alou
d, his body arched. I know just how much pain he wants, how much he needs. My body responds to his reaction, heat rising to the surface of my skin. My inner vixen is revving up to full throttle, the essential me – the inner woman that Daniel recognized and introduced me to.
“How did you know that I would respond?” I asked him the night we met.
“I saw her, your inner vixen. I wanted to know her. I wanted to experience her.”
So did I.
That’s how it began.
We met at an alternative music event. I was there to photograph it for a guide promoting local gigs. I went alone, which I usually did when I was working. I dressed strong, which meant people wouldn’t bother me – Doc Martens, black combat pants with a studded belt, cropped sports bra, bare midriff, my tribal tattoos on display.
It was a hot night and heat was rising from the pavement. Inside the pub venue I found the performance room was a large space upstairs, filling fast with the alternative crowd, black-wearing fetishists and goths. I stationed myself by a pillar near the front, where I had a good view of both stage and audience. The atmosphere was already humming with energy when the music kicked off.
I was busy photographing the first band when I became aware of someone watching me. I scanned the crowd. The man caught my eye and, as he did, he acknowledged me, quickly smiling and walking over. All in black, he was a studious type with shaggy hair and a lean, whip-strong countenance.
He ducked in against my head to speak over the music, introducing himself, commenting on what I was up to. “Nice camera, is this a hobby?”
“Started that way. It’s work, this time around. I’m photographing the gig for a new music magazine.”
He nodded. “I haven’t seen you in the scene before.”
“I just moved from the other side of London.” I nodded my head to the people behind him. “Looks like a fun crowd.”
“You better believe it.” His smile held so much mischief that I was immediately affected by it.
Looking back at how events unfolded that night, I often contemplate how surprised I would have been if I had known where it was going. I tried not to get too distracted from the job as I answered his questions. There was something compelling about him but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was it because he was looking so attentively at me?
During the gap between the bands I took a break to chat properly. He started to talk about astronomy, of all things. He was intelligent and amusing, and I was quickly laughing, unable to stop enjoying the rapid-fire conversation he initiated. The crowd moved around us, a parade of peacocks, a blur of black, velvet, shiny, metal-studded – a visual feast for the senses. The DJ music between the bands had my pulse racing, or was it because of Daniel’s attention and the fact it was all mine? All mine. Like a devotee. Oh, yes, I was hooked, even though I didn’t yet know why.
When he made the move, he did it subtly, never breaking his conversation. He reached inside his biker jacket and pulled out a small, soft leather object. He turned it in his hands, attracting my attention to it. I saw that it was a leather head mask. He looked up suddenly, and stopped talking.
He was measuring my reaction to the object he held.
My pulse tripped and then raced on, fascination flickering inside me.
His eyes narrowed, glinting, his smile wickedly mischievous and attractive. I couldn’t stop myself from returning it. Behind him I saw that people were looking our way. Part of me wanted to walk away. Whatever game he was playing with me right there at the front of the venue was going to attract attention. But he triggered something inside me, and it was because of his demeanor, somehow respectful, and intrinsically sexy. It tugged at my curiosity, and aroused me.
“Will you lace me in?” He paused, his eyes scrutinizing me as I considered the remark.
Something was unfolding inside me, and it was something big, overwhelming.
I nodded, still smiling. I’d never done anything like this before, but the adventure had me firmly in its grasp. He pulled the mask over his head. It moved easily into place, pushing his hair down and outlining his head starkly. The leather was polished black, reflecting the stage lights as he turned and dipped down to let me tie the laces that ran down the back of his skull to the nape of the neck.
Oh, how that simple act affected me, fuelling me for what was to come.
My camera dangled from my neck as I moved into place. The laces felt good in my hands, and I enjoyed the feeling of control I got when I pulled the soft leather into place. It hugged tightly to his skull, enclosing him. Even though I tried to concentrate on the task, I was acutely aware of my own reaction to it, as well as the attention we were generating from the crowd beyond. People were watching, and somehow that made it all the more arousing.
When I was done, he turned back to me, his eyes twinkling through the peepholes. Incredibly, he unzipped the mouth and continued his conversation as before. The second band came onstage. The singer, a striking punk in leather jeans and a studded corset, strutted the stage as she sang, twin keyboard players behind her moving to the drum and bass sound. Daniel and I shifted to the music at first and then, without warning, he dropped to his knees before me. Resting back on his haunches, he looked up at me adoringly. Laughter escaped me and his eyes twinkled as I reached out and instinctively put my hand on his head. I could almost feel him urging me on. Something certainly was, and I was getting high on the rush it delivered. After I stroked his head, he rubbed it against my thighs in an affectionate, catlike way, first one side, than the other. It was an incredibly sensual thing to do and my pussy was getting hotter and damper all the time. Arousal and self-awareness of the observers affected me strangely. I couldn’t quite believe it, and for some reason I couldn’t stop smiling. It was different from what I had thought it would be, though, because it felt so . . . right. Something inside of me was responding to him, and it felt good.
“You’re diverting attention from the band,” I teased, when he stood up, speaking close against his head so he could hear me.
“Ah, but they don’t mind, they’re friends.” He looked toward the stage and as he did I realized the singer had been watching him and she was beaming. She winked at me. I felt welcomed, part of it, and oddly at home.
Daniel reached inside his leather jacket again, his hand resting there. What would it be this time? I wondered with anticipation. From the pocket, he pulled out a whip, a cat-o’-nine-tails with its leather strands wound tight around the handle. A whip. I watched as he ran the strands through his fingers, untangling them. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t imagine where the situation was going next. Just thinking about it set me on a roller coaster of emotions. Over his shoulder, I saw that several members of the audience were completely riveted. Men. Hungry men, with envy in their eyes. Did they think we were together? That we were part of the show?
