Letting Go (Letting Go Series #1) (7 page)

“
Very well said, Jennifer. That’s it exactly. Let me start by telling you some of
my
hard limits, so you’ll never even have to worry about anything in those areas.”

I like his plan. It’s going to take at least some of the pressure off me, I think.

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“I may touch on
a few areas you don’t even know exist, but don’t let that faze you. I assure you, there are people out there into almost anything, so it’s good to be clear about these things from the start.”

“I understand.”

At least, I think I do. I sip at my juice, wondering nervously what some of those areas could be.

“There will be no animals, no children,
no urine or feces,” Sir begins.

I swallow hard.
I would never have dreamed he’d be interested in anything like that, would never even have thought of those things. Just the fact that he’s mentioned them has me growing more apprehensive. The fingers of my free hand begin drumming on the tabletop.

“There will be no blood play,” he continues, “no cutting or piercing
, certainly no amputation.”

“Amputation?”
I blurt, shocked.

“I told you, there are people out there into just about everything. Usually it’s just fingers or toes, but occasionally entire limbs are sacrificed.”

I want to make some kind of joke, like, “well if it’s only fingers and toes…” but I just can’t. It’s too sick. This is nothing at all like Fifty Shades. I’m not much of a material girl, but I much prefer thousand dollar purses.

This is
starting to become a bit too much. I feel like a giant black hole has opened up beneath me. I need to stop this, to hang up the phone and put it all behind me, before the darkness swallows me for good. My thumb is poised over the screen, ready to disconnect.

“Don’t hang up, Jennifer.”

Sir’s voice reaches me like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge. Once again, he somehow knows exactly what I’m thinking. This time I’m glad for it.

“I’m a
fraid I’ve shocked you,” he continues. “That was not my intent, I promise you. But in case you ever decide to enter this world without me—which I sincerely hope you won’t, of course—you should know what’s out there.”

I don’t even know if I
’m prepared to enter this world
with
him—but I certainly would never do it without him.

“Thank you—I think.”

“I want you, Jennifer. I want you very much. You and I can be very, very good together, I believe. But I won’t censor what I tell you just to draw you in.”

I’m actually
pretty glad to hear that. I like that he’s looking out for me, not just trying to get into my pants by sugarcoating things.

“
I appreciate that. Tell me, do these men hate their women that much? That they would mutilate them like that?”

“On the contrary—some of them love their subs very much. I know it sounds perverted—but they are
each showing their love for one another by sharing in a mutual desire, a desire that most would find repugnant.”

“That’s for sure.”
I absolutely cannot wrap my head around mutilating someone as an expression of love, not in the least.

“In some ways, it’s no different from what I hope you and I will do, though at a much lower level
, of course. We will share mutual desires that are a bit outside the norm, and thus enhance each others’ lives.”

“So you’re going
show your love for me by tying me up and using my body for your pleasure?” I say, half-teasingly but still trying to understand.

He laughs.
“In a way, yes. It’s not the specific act, though. It’s the entire relationship—the joining of our inner and outer selves. I will cherish the gift you give to me—the gift of your submission. And by pleasing me and obeying me, you will show your love in return, as well as finding the fulfillment that has been missing in your life.”

I take a moment to mull that over. On some level, everything he’
s just said makes perfect sense. On a more shallow level, it seems like this could just be a good way for him to get laid. I much prefer to believe the deeper level. Being cherished sounds nice—and so does pleasing him in any way he wishes.

“I think I understand,” I say.

“Good. Now, just a few more limits to mention, before we turn our attention back to more pleasant topics. No electric shocks, no fire, no choking, no beating or kicking. There may be some spanking, though.”

I can hear the smile in his voice
when he mentions the spanking part.

“But o
nly if I’m bad?” I ask.

“Who knows?
” The smile is still in his voice. “Maybe only if you’re good.”

Something about
the way he says that is very arousing. “I’ll try to be very good, then,” I say.

He laughs. “I’m sure you will be, Jennifer. I’m counting on it.”

We spend the next twenty or thirty minutes discussing my limits and fantasies, and going into more detail about some of the things he really enjoys. By the time we’re finished, my apprehension has vanished. I’m once again excited and aroused. He certainly has a way about him—he can go from talking about amputation, blood and feces to making me want him more than I’ve ever wanted any man.

And I do want him.
I’m certain of that. But can I really go through with this?

“
So, what’s next?” I ask, having run out of any other questions. I know there’s still so much I don’t have a clue about, but right now, I don’t know enough to even know what else to ask.

“Next? I think next is for us to meet.”

Uh, oh. I wasn’t expecting that, not quite so soon. But we’ve covered an awful lot of ground in our two phone conversations—perhaps it is time to meet. Part of me is still holding out hope for meeting over a cup of coffee, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what he has in mind.

“When?”
I ask.

“How about tonight?”

Tonight
? Yikes! He’s really anxious to get this started, though there’s no hint of any urgency in his voice.

“Why not this afternoon?” I ask, intending to be teasingly sarcastic.
Unfortunately, I hear no sarcasm in my voice. And if I don’t hear it, I know Sir doesn’t hear it, either. He’s perceptive enough to know what I meant though, right?

If he does, he ignores it.

“This afternoon could work,” he says.

Holy shit.
I’ve really put my foot in it now.

“Would you feel more comfortable coming here during the daytime
rather than the night, Jennifer?”

I hadn’t really thought about that. I wasn’t intending him to take my suggestion seriously. But
now that he’s mentioned it, I probably would feel better going there during the day. I just wasn’t thinking it would be today!

“Yes, I would, I think.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, and not a problem,” Sir says. “Just this once, I’ll allow you to set the time for our get together. What time shall I expect you?”

It’s put up or shut up time, I know. Sir might let me put off our meeting for another day, but I’m pretty sure he’
ll be disappointed in me if I do. The thought of disappointing him is surprisingly unpleasant. I’d much rather please him.

“Four o’clock,” I say.

“Perfect.” He gives me his address, a few instructions, and his promise that we will start slowly.

And just like that, I have a date.

CHAPTER 11

I pull my car to the curb about half a bl
ock from Sir’s address. The ten minute drive was easily the most nerve-racking of my life. My palms are sweaty—they can barely hold onto the steering wheel. The dashboard clock tells me that it’s four minutes before four o’clock. I’m going to be right on time.

I turn off the engine and check myself
quickly in the rearview mirror. My makeup is perfect—just a touch of liner and shadow to highlight my blue eyes, dark red lipstick on my lips. I’ve pulled my hair back into a thick ponytail, thinking Sir might want it out of my face while I’m doing whatever it is he plans on having me do. If he wants my hair loose, he can tell me to let it down, or even do it himself. A lot of guys seem to like doing that—in the movies, at least.

I’m about to get out of the car when I remember the gum I’ve been chewing nervously the entire ride over. I take
it from my mouth and wrap it up in a piece of scrap paper to be disposed of later. Thank goodness I remembered the gum in time. I would have been mortified if I showed up at Sir’s door chewing gum like some clueless teenager.

I take
a deep breath and climb out of the car. The late afternoon temperature is somewhere around seventy, I think, but I feel much warmer as I walk slowly toward Sir’s building. I hope I don’t start sweating through my shirt.

I’m dressed casually, per Sir’s instructions—jeans and a shirt striped horizontally with light and dark blue.
I’m glad he didn’t tell me to dress up sexy. I don’t think I could manage to walk very well in heels right now. My underwear is pretty sexy, though. I’m wearing my most revealing black lace bra and my tiniest black silk thong. From some of the things he’s said, I have a feeling I may be spending quite a bit of time in my underwear.

Sir’s building consists of four units. His is second floor on the left. My legs feel a bit wobbly as I climb the stairs. It’s not too late to turn
back, I tell myself as I reach the top of the stairs and find myself standing in front of his door.

I feel like I’ve been here before
—it’s the door from the story Sir told me yesterday. Dark brown wood formed of four raised panels with beveled edges. A shiny brass knocker in the center of the door beckons me. There’s one thing here I wasn’t expecting, though—a peephole! He could be watching me right now.

The thought magnifies my nervous anxiety. I had
expected I’d have a moment or two at least to try to compose myself when I reached his doorway, but the thought of him observing me makes that impossible. I need to knock right now, or else to turn around and leave.

I draw a deep breath and reach for the knocker.

As instructed, I knock twice. The door opens immediately. As Sir told me he would, he remains out of sight behind the door.

My orders are clear. I close my eyes and take two steps forward and then two
sideways steps to my left to clear the doorway. The carpet is thick and plush under my shoes. The place is eerily quiet. I had expected music or something, but there’s nothing. I hear the door thud shut behind me. My heart is hammering in my chest. There’s a sense of finality to the sound of the closing door.

Keeping my eyes shut, I drop to my knees,
then bend my head forward until my forehead touches the floor. The carpet smells clean and fresh. At least he’s not a slob.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

“How may I please you, Sir?” I ask.

The carpet swallows the sound of any footsteps, but somehow I sense he has moved closer to me. What is he doing? Is he studying me? He hasn’t said a word yet, hasn’t praised my punctuality or made any comment about my appearance. I hope he likes what he sees—but what if he’s disappointed? My grandmother used to say, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” My heart sinks. What if that’s what he’s doing, not saying anything at all?

I’m sorely tempted to open my eyes for a peek at his expression, but that would be disobedient. I keep them squeezed shut.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders. “Stay on the floor while you strip.”

A surge of relief flows through me. If he’s disappointed at all, at least it’s not enough for him to send me home. Nervously, I pull my shirt up over my head and toss it to the side. My jeans are more difficult—it’s not easy to get out of your pants while sitting on the floor. Finally, I get them off and throw them in the same direction as my shirt. No wonder he told me to dress simply and casually. He clearly doesn’t have much use for me in clothes.

“Very nice,” he says.

Is he complimenting my body? Or my sexy underwear? Maybe it’s the whole package he likes. I hope so.

“Thank you, Sir. I’
m glad you’re pleased.”

“I’m very pleased, Jennifer. Now get up onto your knees.”

I push myself up into a kneeling position. He’s very close to me now—I can feel that he’s standing right beside me.

Something smooth and soft touches
my face. I know instantly it’s a blindfold. He tightens it around my head. The material over my eyes is cushioned and comfortable. I think it’s probably a sleep mask, rather than simple blindfold. Either way, when I open my eyes, the darkness is nearly impenetrable. I can see a tiny blur of yellowish light on one side of my nose, but that’s all. The rest is blackness.

“How are you feeling, Jennifer?”