7 comments/ 9359 views/ 11 favorites Fish Out Of Water Ch. 01 By: CateJ *So I finally got around to re-reading both chapters of this series and realised that writing a continuation one year after the first part makes for a bit of mess. So here is my story in its entirety, edited, rewritten in part and (fingers crossed)hopefully better. Thanks in abundance to the awesome SoCalCynic for his wise words and patience and for teaching me the word Stygian Cate x* * Once upon a time the only thing dark about me was my wardrobe. I was young, 21, and life was all rainbows, kittens and dreams of a Happily Ever After. I wore a revolving wardrobe of black, not because it was slimming but because everything matched. I admit, I was lazy back then. Perhaps lazy is the wrong word, maybe unprepared would be a better choice. My underwear never matched because I'd never suspected that anyone would want to see it or that it was even an option. I chatted to anyone, friendliness costs nothing, but was unaware that my openness was construed by most as flirtation. I got myself into more "situations" than you could imagine yet always managed to extricate myself with my dignity and my hymen intact. Blinkered? Naive? Innocent? Insert your adjective of choice here. Like most young women, I thought about falling in love, of marriage and babies and the 2.4 white picketed house we would all live in. And 4 minutes later I would be watching an episode of Will and Grace and thinking I'd prefer to be like Karen, living a life of Vodka soaked nonchalance. Four minutes later, I'd want to be Grace, all loose curls and boho wardrobe. Flighty? Ambitionless? Now, at 28 I have Grace's wardrobe and Karen's love of Vodka and putdowns, my teenage dreams of a Happily Ever After firmly locked away in a box marked "Do Not Open". Like Alice through the Looking Glass, I have seen my future and it doesn't end in Suburbia. Nowhere near. It does however feature me brandishing a sign marked "Eat Me". I'd never been in love before. Never pinned posters to my bedroom walls that I kissed with blind passion, never snogged anyone behind the bike sheds. Not because I didn't have the option because I most certainly did thank you very much, but because I was never asked by anyone that mattered. School faded into University and still no-one lit my fuse, not even the Amazonian blonde goddess who assaulted my senses one alcohol fuelled night when I seriously considered my sexuality. No-one made me want to wear a bra and matching panties. Then one day, jaded at 21, I met him. Eyes locked across a crowded staff canteen and my M&S boy shorts were no match for the flood of wetness released upon them. I had no name, no details at all about the object of my amorous intention. He could have been gayer than Jack and it wouldn't have mattered. Finally awake to the powers of attraction I just stood there in my squelching underpants and decided that I would make him mine. Oh the naivety of youth. Of course we met. There would be no story if we hadn't. We became friends, colleagues and then it segued into something more. Not quite lovers but I always hoped. Max was a little bit older than me, his outlook broader and his interests more varied than mine. He fascinated me with his confidence and his focus and I was carried along with it like a wide eyed ingénue. He loved another, a gamine pixie of a girl who I hated with every fibre of my being and the very mention of her name caused bile to crawl up my larynx yet I just nodded sympathetically and hugged him in empathy, less concerned for his pain and more intent on memorising the scent of his skin. I'd established early on that I would never hold his heart, no matter how hard I tried to become what he needed and it set me on the path I'm on today. Perhaps if Max had loved me for who I was I wouldn't be as jaded as I am, perhaps his love would have been my salvation. Of perhaps I would have evolved into me regardless and destroyed the best man I have ever known eventually anyway. As with most things in life, we grew apart. For a few years we were inseparable, my knowledge of his body was greater than my own. Under his tutelage I learned how to bring a man pleasure and how to take my own. I still to this day remember how it felt as he thrust his cock deep inside of me for the first time, how full of him I felt, how complete. His smile would light me up for days and an hour in his company was my equivalent of a day at Disneyland. But people, as life, move on. We changed, rowed when once we'd kissed.He moved away and despite the odd email, we were separate entities again. I never regretted my time with Max, he made me better, life with him was Technicolour and showed me just how great I could be. Thank god for him as in the years since I have needed that reminder more than once. After Max, there was Alex, who adored what I could do to him but ultimately wanted a gamine pixie of his own, then Simon, who loved the idea of me more than the real me but forgot that major fact when he was balls deep. Then there was Amanda, Yuri and James. James was the deal breaker. With each relationship I blossomed and then retreated, blossomed then retreated, growing each time in tiny increments and moving farther from the guileless innocent Max had known. James threw me over his shoulder and carried me away from everything I had ever known and held dear. With James the line between pleasure and pain was a hairs breadth and he found it easier to shown affection with a slap than a kiss. For a while I enjoyed his dominance but soon tired of the bruises until the day came when the tables turned and I hit him back. To my shock, my strong Alpha male had a taste for submission and even more shockingly it appeared that I was a natural Dominant. We experienced so much together physically but in my heart I still yearned for my Max, for the man who had lovingly kissed me and told me we would end up together. Soon enough James lost his appeal. No woman wants a man who acquiesces at the drop of a hat no matter how appealing she thinks the idea is. I found I wanted an equal, someone able to withstand my strength and dole out his in equal measure. No-one was capable of the task. Just as Max had awakened my libido, James had woken the animal in me and I was now hungry for more. By day I was a suited corporate drone, buzzing about the hive anonymously but by night... by night I frequented the kind of establishments even the hardest of men would avoid, seeking someone to sate the beast inside. Looking back I can't quite believe I did it, that I put myself in such danger but at the time I was just an addict, looking for someone to give me the sexual high I needed. I found that orgasm couldn't be reached without either receiving or inflicting pain and each time the bar was raised. Where once a hand slap would suffice, I soon craved the smack of a bamboo paddle on my flesh. When that became as tame as the tap of a finger I needed the crack of a belt or the myriad of welts brought by a Cat. My body became numb to these experiences and nothing sated me for long. At 26 I was no stranger to pain and took pride in having broken every taboo known to man but in my heart I knew that there had to be more. It was extremely satisfying for a fleeting moment but then the pain would fade and I needed something more. At this point I wondered if I was broken. Was my need for pain a sign that I was damaged or somehow punishing myself for who knows what? Each liaison was more extreme than the next and there was almost nothing I wouldn't try. I never went back to a partner, refusing to walk down a road previously travelled no matter how much they begged. In the world I inhabited I became infamous for my sexual appetites and people begged to feel the weight of my hand upon them. Sometimes I accepted their offers, robotically giving them what they wanted yet never feeling anything in return. I knew something was missing but had no idea what it was. And then I met Julian. I could wax profusely about his looks, his charms but it would mean nothing. For all of his physical charms, and there were many, Jules and I never fucked. I was far too angry and he was far too gay. What Jules saw in me was this very anger, this rage that drove me to higher heights. As a sought after Dom in his own right, he took the time to talk to me, to mentor me and showed me that there was more out there than even I knew. For two years we fucked our way through London and drew people from far flung regions into our world, folks desperate for the kind of absolution only we could give. Sure, we tag teamed but never once did we indulge in each other. I loved him for that. He never tried to break me, or mould me, or use me to his advantage. With his connections I entered a world the likes of which I could never imagine, a world where I was a goddess. A Domina par excellence. Men paid thousands of pounds an hour to feel the thwack of my hand and far darker pleasures. I sodomised more high powered men than you have had hot dinners, I had rooms at the most famous 5 star hotels across the globe and in each I installed a St Andrews Cross with which I tied my prey before I brought them to a pulsating heap at my feet. The pleasure was still fleeting but the cold hard cash made it easier to swallow. I didn't have to fuck anyone I didn't want to and I was free to dole out as much aggression as I saw fit. Arab princes, Hollywood royalty, Greek magnates, all prone at my leather booted feet. Nothing was out of bounds for us, and nothing phased me. Not until Jules told me I needed a break. "It's too much Kate. You've been at this for too long now. You need a break. Have a holiday. Get away from it all." I stared at Jules like he was an alien but even I knew he was probably right. At 28 I had seen far more of the darkness of humanity than was normal and I knew he was right in his assessment. But where to go? As a Domina, I was known the world over, surely nowhere was safe. "Just disappear for a while Kate. Get your head together. Work out what it is you need. This life isn't healthy for this length of time. Please. If not for you, then for me." ... Jules had been my salvation so I owed him this much. It was at his request that I found myself in Cornwall. Too scared to travel too far away from my surrogate family, I fled 250 miles to the coat of Cornwall, driven by nothing more than my desire for something normal. A distant memory of my cousin living there and offering her spare room. As the train sped through the heart of England, every layer of darkness and shame peeled away from me and I emerged lighter. I had no idea what I would do during my enforced absence from London but I looked forward to finding a different version of myself, one where it wasn't obligatory to seek pain and hurt and darkness. As the train pulled into Looe Station I took a deep breath, perhaps the first I'd taken in years. Nothing about this place scared me and that was calming. Taking my phone from my pocket I called my cousin, ignoring the hundreds of client names and searching for one of the few numbers that counted. As she answered I exhaled freely and asked if she had room for one more. Finally I was free. As with all families, no matter how much time passes between visits, they still accept you. Sarah and I had been close in childhood yet drifted as we got older. Thanks to the marvels of social media we had reconnected in recent years and I knew all about her divorces and life as a Nurse. I knew just how much she yearned for a soul-mate yet was scared to open herself up again after three divorces by the age of 30. She, naturally, knew little of me. I told her I was burnt out at work, which wasn't exactly a lie, and needed some sea air to regain my equilibrium. Sarah didn't question my reasons and welcomed me with open arms, her light clean flat the complete opposite of the dark apartment I called home. Every surface was littered with photographs and knick knacks, the walls whitewashed and adorned with seascapes that I suspected she had painted herself. Even her dog, a French bulldog named Elvis was white. I wanted to laugh as I set my bag on the floor and took it all in, here was I, the arch princess of darkness, in the purest cleanest surroundings you could imagine. For a second I was scared to sit down, afraid my taint would somehow ruin her furnishings but I shook that off immediately. To show my horror would alert Sarah to my situation and although I knew she would never guess my real life, I didn't want her concerns to ruin our time together. As she handed me a mug of tea and settled excitedly onto the sofa beside me, telling me all of the fun things we would do together I felt myself relax. I could do this. I could reside in a nice normal environment and be just like her. I was nothing if not tough, I had once been suspended on a St Andrews for 6 hours as a parade of men took me for their own pleasure so a fortnight in a coastal town should be a breeze. Turns out that 48 hours in a remote Seaside town is far more torture than 20 lashes from a birch cane. We went for walks, ate seafood minutes after it had been plucked from the water and for one horrifying hour rowed around the harbour. I so wanted to be a part of Sarah's world and believe me I did try but all of the fresh air and healthy living was making me crazy. We also talked a lot which made me less uncomfortable. Sarah told me about her marriages and the effect they had on her. First divorced at 22, they had been far too young and unprepared for it all. Her second husband had decided that whilst he loved her, he loved his boyfriend Pedro more so her second divorce at 25 was less of a shock. Finally she met and married Andrew when she was 27. Slightly older, Andrew was in the Army and seemed to tick all of her boxes. Life seemed to be back on track. Then he was sent to Afghanistan for a year and came back a shell of himself. PTSD claimed both him and their marriage and at 30 she was strictly off men forever. I sympathised and told her how amazing she was to have given all she had. She cried and told me the pain of failure wiped out the euphoria. We held each other as the tears flowed and vowed to be there for each other more in the future. And then she broke the spell, she asked me about my love life. Was I seeing someone? Had I ever been in love? I bluffed my way through it, guilt rippling over my flesh as I spouted lie after lie to hide the truth of my existence. The only truth I spoke was of Max, how I had loved him more than life and how he had been my first, showing what it was to be loved and cherished. She had smiled knowingly and asked if we were still in touch but I just shook my head. Too much time had passed I told her, we would be two very different people now. She just smiled and told me I was lucky to have known him. I grinned and told her she needed to get back out there and get laid. She laughed and opened another bottle of wine which thankfully ended the conversation, thank god. Three days after I arrived she went back to work and I brooded on her sofa. Elvis was a fantastic listener but I was wary of voicing my troubles to his innocent canine ears. I missed my life, my flat, my friends. I missed being in control, of being adored. I wanted to make up my face into my mask of control and wear leather and latex and 6 inch heels. I knew that I was being selfish, that if I couldn't last 3 days without cracking a whip that there was something very wrong with me but it was all I knew. It was only Sarah's face as we'd hugged that kept me there, her genuine need for companionship and understanding that stopped me jumping on the first train back to London. I'd texted Jules more than once and his response had been the same, "Take your time, get some rest and think about what you really want out of life." I hated him for not begging me to come back but I knew his intentions were pure. By day four, I was insane. Poor Elvis had taken to hiding to avoid my constant attempts to drag him out for walks and daytime television was a cesspool of tripe that I was glad I'd avoided until now. I'd flicked through Sarah's magazines multiple times and was now in her bedroom looking for something more substantial to read. Philippa Gregory held no appeal and the only Stephen King book she owned I had read. Reaching to the second shelf I took down a copy of The Great Gatsby and noticed that this shelf was two books deep. Nestled behind F Scott Fitzgerald's epic novel of love, loss and decadence was a copy of "50 Shades of Grey". Curious I took it from its hiding place and read a couple of pages. 3 hours later I was back at her bookshelf searching for the next one and unsurprisingly I found it. By day five of my stay I was up to speed on the Christian Grey phenomena and frankly didn't understand the appeal. To call it BDSM was an affront to the lifestyle and to call them books was an insult to anyone who had ever put pen to paper. But my interest was piqued. Behind her carefully assembled shelf of classics, Sarah had a veritable treasure trove of erotica. 'Delta of Venus' by Anais Nin, 'The Story of O' by Pauline Réage, 'Tropic of Cancer' by Henry Miller. I barked out a laugh as I unearthed 'The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty' by A. N. Roquelaure as I was more than au fait with the themes of submission and dominance. To think my sweet cousin would own a book about pony play and keep it hidden behind the complete works of William Shakespeare! Eager for stimulus I flicked through each novel, dwelling on the dirty bits and my days passed in a blur of erotica and masturbation. Each afternoon I carefully replaced each book so Sarah would never know I'd discovered her secret and we'd spend each evening talking about rubbish as I desperately tried to find a way to broach the subject of my reality and her fantasy life. I'd realised just how desperately I wanted her to know about the real me as I read each sex soaked passage and I just knew she would be as understanding about this as she was about everything else. But I didn't. Our bond was still too fragile to load with the truck load of baggage I carried. After a week of pornography I was beyond the point of sanity. Naturally I had packed a selection of my favourite sex toys but even they were now missing the mark. For me, it was never about the actual orgasm. My pleasure came from the submission of others. I needed to get back to my own world, I needed to hear the cries and pleading of others to find my own centre. To up and leave Sarah now would look odd and despite my discomfort at my surroundings I genuinely loved her company. I just needed something to take the edge off. Suddenly it came to me. Amazed I had not thought of it before I switched on her laptop and started searching online. Swingers parties, sex clubs, anything in the area that would fuel my fire. My hopes were low but after 20 minutes I found a listing that caught my eye. Less than 10 miles away in Liskeard I found a club that caught my eye. An over 18 club named Switch, in London it would have made my skin crawl with its neon lit name but here it seemed less in your face. No specific dress code but its £25 cover charge made me think I had hit the motherlode. By luck, it was open tonight so within minutes I was in the shower preparing myself for an evening of debauchery. It didn't take long. Back home I have an amazing Russian woman who waxes me to within an inch of my life, leaving nothing by the tiniest strip of red pubic hair to guide my victims to their destination. I usually wear a black wig when I work and old habits die hard, so a quick hair wash and I was ready to apply my make-up and my Mia Wallace bob. I pulled on a latex pencil skirt and a matching shouldered top whose corset bodice did amazing things to my body and all that was left to do was leave Sarah a note. Old friends in the area I said, don't wait up. Clutching my 6 inch heels in my hand I entered the cab I'd called and let my mind wander as we travelled the 20 minutes to my temporary salvation. Fish Out Of Water Ch. 01 Suddenly stumbling I quickly tried to grip the banister to steady myself but missed, my legs unsteady. I felt myself fall and as he caught me in unfamiliarly strong arms I felt myself melt into him, yearning for every ounce of that strength to envelop me, if only for a moment. Holding me close he stared down at me, his brown eyes sincere, "Are you okay? Can I get you anything?" I shook my head, staring at him wide eyed and, frankly, afraid. I never allowed anyone to have the upper hand yet here I was, held safe in his arms and completely at his mercy. Not once in our history had Max ever been this assertive or, dare I say, masculine, but here we were, me prone in his arms and getting off on it! "I'm okay. Thank you. If you could just help me down to the door I can catch a taxi home." He nodded and swept me up into his arms. Unbelievably he carried me down the stairs like the closing scene from "An Officer and a Gentleman". My very own Romantic Hero. Every instinct in my body wanted to fight against him but my brain overruled, revelling in feeling so protected and yet so vulnerable. As he set me down on the pavement I held him tightly, desperate to cling to him like a vine and never let go, despite hating that vulnerable streak that only Max could force to the very surface. Shyly I couldn't meet his eyes, and found myself reverting to my old ways, clenching my hands into fists and twisting away from him, trying to create distance. Staring out at the road, I searched for the yellow light of a taxi in the stygian blackness but it remained as dark as my soul. Breathing deeply I turned to Max and shrugged, "I'll wait here. Thank you again for your help." He tilted his head and stared at me, a look that seemed to strip each layer of skin from my bones. "I can't explain it... it makes no sense..." I stared back and galvanised myself, standing as tall as I could and summoning every ounce of reserve I had. "I should explain I guess. I'm not normally this rude to women I've just met but you just remind me so strongly of someone I used to know..." Stunned I stood there, torn between hoping he recognised me and fearful that he had, "She must have been pretty impressive then." He grinned at me and looked me up and down, rendering me useless, "She was... She most certainly was." ... Max had refused to leave me as I waited for a cab and because fate is a bitch, no taxi appeared in the 40 minutes we waited. After only 10 minutes of standing in the chilly seaside air, he had chivalrously given me his coat. Despite my inner bitch protesting, I was too cold and too grateful to vocally protest. In silence we stood side by side until Max finally took my frozen hand and tugged me off down the road. I was numb to the point that it took a few seconds for me to realise his intentions. I then revelled in the warmth of his touch for another long, magical moment before I pulled back, "What the hell are you doing?" He looked back and shook his head cheerfully, "Come on! It's freezing cold and I don't know about you but I need a cup of tea. Don't be a diva!" I couldn't help it, I laughed, a deep hearty laugh with a snort at the end. I rarely laugh anymore but I've always snorted (So much so that Sarah dubbed me Miss Piggy in my youth). Max stilled at the sound and stared at me, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. My skin prickled at his interrogation and I glared at him, "Did your Mother never tell you it's rude to stare?" "She did frequently. But I can't help it. You just seem so familiar somehow and let's be honest, no-one else around here looks like you do!" ... The cafe was a welcoming retreat from the cold night air, a brightly lit haven on an otherwise darkened street. A neon sign in the window proudly declared it open 24 hours a day and I could imagine it did a roaring trade during the day, its large menu offering a myriad of fried delights alongside smoothies, sandwiches and about 17 varieties of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the smell of bacon and my stomach rumbled as a waitress walked past, a plate of American style pancakes dripping with syrup in her hands. Max grinned and led me to a table by the window, pulling my chair out for me as if we were on a date. Within minutes my icy hands were wrapped around a steaming mug of tea and I sipped it, relaxing in the warmth as it slid down my throat. The art-deco clock hanging behind the cash register showed it was now past midnight. Sitting opposite my first and only love in an all night cafe in Cornwall drinking tea wasn't exactly where I thought I'd be but symbiotically it was where I ended up. I didn't need to look around to know that people were staring. In London, no-one pays much attention to anyone else and I can wander through the dark streets dressed in my finest without a worry. To be fair, my Domina outfits of black leather and PVC are utterly tame transposed against the voluptuous sequins and lamés favoured by the drag queens who work near the club, their vibrant outfits made even more dazzling by their vast statures in the 8 inch platforms they favour. On more than one occasion I have relented to their incessant pleas to make me over and have then stood dazzled by the resulting image presented to me, the highly decorated colourful version of me that could have been. All shimmer and colour, my face a riot of sparkle and sequins and joy, I twirl, revelling in their delighted laughter and praise. ... Sitting in this Cornish cafe, I could have worn a showgirl costume of yellow feathers and turquoise sequins and still not been as conspicuous as I am now. But fuck them; I have worked too hard for too long to care what other people think. I know in my soul, that if I met their eyes, most would look at me with lust or admiration. Even those who viewed me with disdain would still want to fuck me. Why? Because I am now Her, and She is undeniable. "Can I ask you a question?" Pulled from my memories I focused on Max and cocked an eyebrow, "This from the man who carried me down the stairs and practically abducted me from the pavement! Don't get coy on me now!" He smiled and I felt my heart splinter a fraction, just a tiny chink in my hard won armour. "Do we know each other? Really?" I sipped my tea, and used the precious seconds to ponder my answer. To lie would be the best response for the both of us but the truth was a tantalising door into God knew what. "It depends. Do you frequent high end fetish clubs across the world?" Max gazed at me and slowly shook his head. "Have you ever paid £1000 to have a woman beat you into submission and lay prostate against her boots?" Again he shook that adorably familiar face. I leant forward and held his wide eyes. "Have you ever pleaded with a woman to take control of you, mind, body and soul and allowed yourself to feel the fulfilment of submission?" He sucked in a breath and I caught the infinitesimal movement of his head, answering no. Sitting back, I shrugged out of his coat, letting the already shocked patrons see the full extent of my neck to knee latex armour outfit. Considering the hour and the obvious fact that most of them were sobering up after a night out on the town, their gasps fed my ego and I finally felt comfortable in my new, alien environment. "Well then my friend, if none of those situations ring true to you then it's fair to say that we have never met." Max sank back into his seat and regarded me, his eyes raking my face. It took everything to hold myself serene, to not let my emotions flicker into life but years of training paid off. "I can't say I have ever done any of those things. So I must be wrong. Maybe you remind me of someone I've seen in a film or something..." I laughed, "I can only imagine the kind of films you watch!" Max laughed and sipped his tea, "I'm sure you could!" I shrugged and motioned to the waitress, ordering us both another mug of tea and two plates of toast. My stomach was churning, a frequent (and still unexpected and unwelcome) side effect of my "performances" and I needed to eat to calm it. She starred at me, her eyes fluttering from my face to my breasts and back. I raised a brow, ready to throw out a sarcastic aside when she surprised me, stuttering, "I... err... I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I... I love your outfit. You look like a superhero!" I almost choked on my tea in surprise. "Well thank you. Although I was channelling a Super Villain when I got dressed this evening." She blushed and I caught a flash of myself in my early days, so wanting to be accepted. I smiled at her, the first true smile since I'd fallen into Sarah's arms. "But as long as it's super, it doesn't matter right?" She smiled meekly, "I wish I could wear something like that. Look like you do." I reached for her shaking hand and held her gaze, imploring her with my wide open eyes to focus solely on me, a trick I use all the time to guide my submissives. "You can my darling and you should. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks of you, only what you think of you. Be brave, be bold, be you. Nothing else matters." She nodded and started to turn away to place my order, "One more thing though darling..." She whipped around, rapt for my next words. "If you venture into PVC, make sure you liberally apply baby powder first as it's a bitch to get in or out of!" Max choked out a laugh as our waitress grinned and darted away. "That may have been the first honest thing you've said tonight." I scowled at him. "You think I've lied to you? I wasn't aware we've discussed anything pertinent?" He shook his head, "I'm not saying you've lied... but watching you interact with the waitress... you seemed like a different person from the woman I've been talking to. More genuine, more real. Like that was the real you and the you I've been talking to is a character. It's not a knock, just an observation." "Maybe you just haven't asked me the right questions. Have you considered that?" He smiled, appreciation sparking in his eyes. "You don't like to lose do you?" "Haven't so far so why start now! So ask me... I can tell you are dying to. Based on the lack of taxis in this backwards town I am at your mercy... for now." ... As the hours passed and I slowly relaxed I found myself offering tentative glimpses into my world. When he asked me what I did I found no reason to lie. His shock was palpable. I'd smiled and asked him why it should be a surprise considering what he'd seen me earlier do. Why the teasing of one man in a back street pub should be acceptable whilst the flagellation of another with a whip as his limbs strained beneath his bonds should not. He'd stared at me, his mouth open and his breathing growing rapidly heavier. The sun began its ascent and Max paid our bill. I smiled at my waitress, winking as she waved goodbye. Slowly we walked down the road , the scattered streetlights throwing lustre onto certain spectrums of the asphalt road and shrouding others in darkness. No cars passed at all, our journey together heralded by the spluttering streetlights alone. For a second, I yearned for London, its eclectic ambiance emphasised by the bright lights, no shadows visible as neon after neon shroud its inhabitants with whiter than white light. No-one is invisible there, everyone spot lit by the brightness of the stores, bars and streetlights. And the noise. London is a cacophony of cabs and cars, people and clubs, yet here, even the noisiest of bars barely registered to me. We walked slowly , not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from each other. He'd stopped, pulling me back as I moved forwards. I slowly spun into his arms. We proceeded to bump our noses and he held me tight, his breath washing over my face. I'd wanted to kiss him, to thrust my tongue between his lips and drown myself in his taste, while stopping any more words that gave me foolish hope. Based on the pulsing of the vein in his jaw he was contemplating similar thoughts, yet he held himself in check, reminding me that I did not truly know this man, only the ghost of his past. And as he spoke, the words filtered into my brain and cemented my understanding. Max wanted me to break him. ... He'd asked politely, almost imploringly, but the truth was as evident as the shaking of my hands. He loved his wife, he was almost happy, but he'd always felt there was something more. His trip tonight to the club wasn't his first, but it was the first time he'd seen anything (or anyone) which gave him a reason to hope. Watching me tease and torment that man on the bed upstairs had wakened his lust. Had made him jealous of the almost pathological focus of the man harbouring my attention. Every strike, every stroke, every word. Max had been fascinated by the control I'd welded, not only over the man on the bed but by everyone in the room. With little more than a look I had changed the atmosphere from one of nervous energy to focused desire. I'd shrugged, telling him that it wasn't me per se, it was more about the group needing direction. Everyone at the club was looking for more yet most had no idea what. All I had done was give one man what he wanted and shown the rest that there was no shame in speaking their desires out loud. "If you never ask for what you truly want, how can you expect to get it?" Max, though, wanted more. He wanted to be taken further, wanted the harsh slap of skin on skin, the sharp bite of teeth, the harsh penetration of a dildo into his arse. He wanted absolution, via handing himself over to someone more skilled than he, to take him further than he could yet comprehend. I'd stared at him, his pupils huge as he whispered dark words into the early morning light. He wanted to be fucked, pushed, tormented and teased. He needed to be bound by the control he'd seen me demonstrate, and he'd asked me if I would help him. Ordinarily I would have agreed to a price and whisked him off to the nearest hotel room, but this was Max. I wanted more than anything to give him what he needed, but I also wondered if I was the right woman for this particular job. I knew that I could help him, could breach his sphincter with only the merest hint of pain before driving him to the heady heights of orgasm, knew I could lash his body without breaking the skin, knew I was capable of giving him what he desired. She could do all of that and more. But here, standing close to my long lost love, I suddenly lost my confidence. Could I hurt him, even knowing that he needed it, sought it? He'd shaken his head softly and laughed, apologising for being so blatant. I'd shrugged telling him it was okay and as the yellow light of an open cab came into view I'd almost leapt into the road to flag it down. Max had hugged me awkwardly and as I settled into the car he pressed a napkin into my hand, his number inked indelibly upon it in his familiar scrawl. "Please... Think about it." As the taxi drove off, the light and life in his eyes burnt into my brain, Max's hope burning brighter than the morning sun. ... I finally crept back to Sarah's just after six, my shoes in my hand, my breath held as I silently padded into the flat. My mind was awhirl, foremost in my head the fact that I had to strip all traces of Her from my body before Sarah woke. Unlike Max who had wavered blindly before asking me the questions he wanted to, Sarah would take one look at me like this and move in for the kill. I'd be lying if I said that a major part of me didn't want that; I needed to share my life with someone other than Jules but my relationship with Sarah was still so new that I couldn't risk it. Even knowing her 'literary' secrets as I did; maybe one day but not now. Elvis snuffled around my ankles and I tickled his ears, grateful for the welcome. Sneaking around was second nature and I was soon back to myself again, my secret side hidden once again in my suitcase as I padded to the kitchen to fill the kettle. Waiting for it to boil I stared out of the window, focusing on the sea before me. Infinite, majestic, unparalleled in its ability to rage and still. As a child I had been fascinated by nature; my Father had loved to regale me with facts about the world around me. "Remember Katie, people make wars but Nature... nature is stronger than that. Earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis... Mother Nature shouldn't be messed with. Nature can be far more destructive than man could ever dream of. You must always respect the world around you." He had passed when I was in my teens, and was still probably part of the reason I held people at least arm's length, yet I always remembered his musings. Along the way I'd revised them to fit my own ends; nature now was less about the elements and more about people but it remained true. There were things out there stronger than you or me; lusts, passions, peccadilloes, and persuasions, the secrets that drive a man to slake his lusts, and the secrets that keep me in work. ... Settling on the pullout bed I blew on my tea and had a Humphrey Bogart moment, of all the bars in all the world, Max had to walk into mine. Over the course of the evening I had learnt much about him. Now married with a small child, he worked for the Royal Mail as an administration drone and hated it. He adored his daughter, somewhat liked his wife and stayed up to the early hours each night writing what he hoped would be the next great novel. At that I had snorted, remembering his adoration of F. Scott Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" and never understanding the appeal of a tale about such spoilt brats. Max had stared and I'd blagged, calling him on the cliché that everyone has a novel inside of them. He laughed, telling me he had written far more than one, publishing them online to varying degrees of success. He'd seemed to light up as he talked about writing and I listened intently, his voice washing over me as I fell headlong into another wander down memory lane. I recalled how I'd sat beside him years before as he typed, his face scrunched up in concentration as he typed away on yet another magnum opus. I would watch him, fascinated, aroused and mildly disgruntled at being so universally ignored but then he would include me, asking me for the right word or spelling. In those moments, I felt more a part of him than when we made love, linked to him on a different level. My body, I have since learnt painfully, can belong to anyone for the right price but only Max could engage my mind. Aside from Jules and now Sarah, no-one else really talks to me, or seems to care that I have feelings or a brain. For each of those quiet moments when he would blink at me, including me on his journey, I felt part of something greater. Something I believed would last forever. Nothing does sadly but seeing him here now, talking to him as I once used to, I almost felt the frozen shards of my hardened heart begin to thaw with the glow of something familiar. Of course, he had no idea now what I was thinking, of who I truly was but as he kept talking I assumed he found me interested; which of course, I was. ... In the 48 hours since we said goodbye I have rehashed our conversation at least a thousand times. I recalled his face as he asked me to give him what he wanted, as he asked me if we knew each other. I've imagined what I would do to him, even down here, with such a limited selection of toys and tools at my disposal. The napkin is now in tatters, scrunched into a ball under my hands yet his number is tattooed into my memory. Even Sarah, running on fumes after an 18 hour shift, noticed my mood. She probed and poked, trying to get me to open up before finally giving up (Or so I thought).