She was so young.

Perhaps not in years but in the ways of the world.  Especially the D/s world

He was 10 years her senior.  A Dominant.

Tall – very tall – with a commanding presence behind a soft and palatable facade.

He tied her up, teased and worshiped her.  Never had she experienced such artful caresses, such long, lingering sultry kisses.  Previous men were clumsy in comparison, their fumbling attempts at seduction and love making earned her scorn when she thought of them.

Mr. Dominant didn’t realize her enthusiastic responses were not a sign of experience and worldliness;  rather the fervent reactions of a girl in a woman’s body living in the moment and surrendering with utter honesty.

One day he invited her to his house.  Thrilled and excited she arrived a little early, knocked to find the door swing open of its own accord.  Tentatively she stepped forward and found Mr. Dominant kneeling over an open box.

It was only a glance.  But a glance was all she needed.

Leather cuffs, chains, floggers, paddles, lengths of rope, gags and blindfolds, and so much more she could not identify.   Some scarves were all he had ever used.

Panic seized her and she fled, convinced he was an evil wicked man who planned to torture and kill her.  His calls went unanswered and she lived in terror that he would arrive at her door.  But he never did, and over time his calls ceased and her fears abated.

It was a couple of years later before she saw him again.  By accident.  He wasn’t an evil wicked man who was going to kill her, but the moment of sheer terror was not so easily forgotten and though fantasies were her constant companion, the submissive living inside her did not find comfort in her journey for many years.