The collar from Harrods was around my neck, leash attached, and the seductive purple corset graced my body. Black satin panties, hose and shoes were the only other articles of clothing permitted, and I was standing in the middle of a fetish club, the likes of which I could never have imagined.
A man wrapped in plastic wrap from head to foot, his eyes and mouth the only visible signs that he was actually human, laid on the floor next to the cloakroom. Glossy latex was everywhere, extreme costumes abounded, and mixed between the absurd and insane were couples like Sir and me, but a mixture of gender – and genders – in every combination one could conceive.
While the evening was an extraordinary experience in and of itself, it was the last half hour that held the magic.
At the far end of the ‘Playroom’ – a large open space filled with all manner of BDSM furniture – was a ballerina bar. After watching the various activities it was where Sir chose to take me. I found myself bent at the waist, my wrists tied to the pole.
The light was dim and he began caressing my backside, occasionally brushing between my legs. It was all very tantalizing and I closed my eyes surrendering to the intoxicating play. It was only a few minutes later, when I opened them, that I discovered another submissive was tied next to me, and only about ten feet away.
She was very pretty, dressed in her own provocative corset, and I glanced over my shoulder to view her Dominant. It was difficult to make out his features in the semi-darkness, but his head lifted in acknowledgement. My eyes darted back to her and she caught my gaze – holding it – locking my eyes.
A sound smack made me gasp, but my connection to her was not broken, and so began a mesmerizing interlude. She and I were completely connected in a sublime state, and as our Dominants spanked and teased we held our gaze, the electric energy passing between us almost tangible.
I never wanted it to end, and when her wrists were untied and she was led away, I felt as though I had just lost a best friend. Sir must have instinctively felt my loss. He freed me immediately, engulfing me in a warm, wondrous soothing embrace.
I never knew her name, but I believed then, and still in memory, that the magic we shared would have been tainted by something so mundane. She will always be with me. She was a Princess who was the crowning end to a perfect twelve hours.
Often I wonder – if she thinks of me.
Was I the Princess for the end of her perfect evening? I like to think so.
https://www.amazon.com/author/maggiecarpenter