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Like Mickey, Only More So

She looked askance at me. “Yes, I know him. We were together for a while, yes. Didn't work out, though.” She took another sip of her coffee. “He's … interesting. You ever see '9 1/2 Weeks'? The one with Kim and Mickey?” I nodded, yes. “Like Mickey, only more so. You'll want to take it slow with him; it would be easy to get in over your head.”

She looked intently at me. “There was one before me. She was young, too young. Not ready for that intense relationship. She had a mental breakdown; it was six months before she was released from the hospital.”

“You sure you want to go through with this?” I nodded again; she shrugged, then wrote down a phone number. “He's usually there; he works from home most of the time.” Another look. “I can set up a meeting, if you like. You know Hennessy's?” I did. “Give me a minute.” She took her phone and dialed a number. A couple of minutes later she nodded at me, then put the phone away. “Be there tomorrow night, at eight. She handed me her phone. “That's him, two years ago.” I took a look; nice face, strong, clean shaven, conservative hairstyle. I put the number in my purse.


“Don't mention it.” She looked at the check, laid a twenty on the table, then put her phone away and left. I finished my coffee, then paid the bill on my way out.


Hennessy's is a nice place; Irish, like a lot of places, but quiet. Mostly businessmen and working girls (no, not that kind) looking to unwind and maybe make a little discreet arrangement. My kind of place.

He was already there, at a table in the back. He waved; I walked over and sat down as he signaled the waiter. “Susan Lancaster.”

“Michael Dannerman. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.” I turned to the waiter. “Guinness Stout.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sam Adams Winter Lager for me.” The waiter left with the order. “An unusual choice. Where did you pick up a taste for that?”

“A lovely summer vacation in Ireland, two years ago. Spent half of it in the local pubs. I learned a few of the songs, too.”

He chuckled. “I can imagine. You'll have to sing me a couple sometime. Not here, though; this is a classy establishment.”

The waiter brought us our drinks. “Cheers.” After a sip he leaned back a bit. “I suppose Marty told you about me.”

“A little, yes.”

“Lies, all of it. I never did any of those things. I swear it.”

I looked quizzically at him. “None of them?”

“Well … okay, maybe some of them. Most of them.”

He smiled. “Like Mickey, only more so. An interesting description. I do have some things in common with that character. We're both assertive, forceful; we like to be in charge. But that character is two dimensional; his only interest was in subjugating her. A woman tires quickly of that.”

“Unh huh. So why did the two of you break up?”

He looked thoughtfully at me. “Very well. We're both dominant; we want to be in charge. That sort of arrangement never works out well. Fortunately we figured it out early. The parting was amicable; we're still friends.”

“And the one before her?”

He stared at me fore a moment. “She told you about that?”


“But she didn't tell you all of it, did she?”

“She told me the girl had a mental breakdown.”

He sighed. “True, as far as it went. I was a damned fool, thinking only of myself. Too blind to see the signs. Until the night she came apart.”

He took a sip of his beer. “She didn't tell you about that, did she? How the girl tried to kill me?”


He pulled his hair back; a long scar ran from his forehead back along his head. “Just grazed me. I didn't press charges; she needed help, not jail. I made sure she got help; I paid for everything.”

He relaxed a bit. “She also didn't tell you that I spent the next three years in therapy. My selfishness, my shortsightedness, had driven her to madness and nearly destroyed her. It took a long time to move that mountain of guilt.”

“And now?”

“She moved to Chicago a couple of years ago. Married, a couple of kids, a home in the suburbs. Doing well.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Sounds like there's still some guilt there.”

He smiled. “Only a small hill now. I can cope with that.” He grew serious again. “I have never forgotten the lesson, though. In every relationship your partner's needs come before your own. Always.”

He smiled at me again. “Enough of the depressing conversation. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. There's a good Mexican place a couple of blocks away. Interested?”

“Lead on.”


The food was excellent. And the fried ice cream for dessert; if you've never had it I pity you. Over coffee we talked a bit more, then he walked me home.

I hesitated at the door, then invited him in. I'm weak, I know; round heels and all that. The usual set up; soft lights, soft music, drinks, snuggle on the couch; you know. Pretty soon we were in each other's arms. The clothes began to come off.

When we were down to my lingerie and his boxers he asked the question. “So … have you ever tried bondage?”

Now we come to it. “No. I've heard about it, of course.”

“Would you like to try it?”

Hmm. What big teeth you have, Grandma … “Just what do you have in mind?”

He told me; it didn't sound too bad. “And if I want out?”

“Hum a tune. Any tune. I'll release you immediately. Safety first.”

I took a deep breath. “All right, but take it slow, okay?”

“Of course.” He swept up our clothes, picked me up in his arms, and carried me into the bedroom.

Once on the bed he removed my bra, then pulled my arms behind me and bound my wrists with his necktie. More fondling. “Open wide.” He wadded up one of my stockings and gently stuffed it into my mouth, then secured it with the other. This was a new experience for me; I had never been submissive before. He proceeded to tie my scarf over my eyes; now I was really in the moment, wondering what he would do next.

I heard him shed his boxers, then he lay down next to me and pulled me around so that I was lying on my side facing him. A moment later his lips and tongue were working their way down toward my crotch. His fingers hooked the waistband of my panties and pulled them completely off. I didn't resist; indeed, I helped as much as I could.

I was in his embrace, rubbing my body against his, silently pleading for him to continue, to enter me. I was wet, nipples erect, my skin on fire; I wanted him, wanted him now. His lips brushed my sex; my back arched in response, pressing my vulva against him. He ran his tongue leisurely over my labia, driving me even closer to the edge. Then it touched my clit; I felt as though an electric shock had passed through me.

It was frustrating; I wanted to grab his penis, to guide it into place, but I could not see it or use my hands. I pleaded with him as best I could, but he ignored my muffled cries, taking his own sweet time. Finally he entered; I climaxed within a few seconds. He continued, bringing me to climax after climax. I lost all track of time; four? Five? More? Then one last climax, in which he joined me.

Wow. I had never had such an experience; never. He released me; we cuddled and drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Morning; he was gone. A note on the bedside table, thanking me for a wonderful evening. I sighed and began to get ready for work.


I met the girls the next evening; coffee at Starbucks. We get together once a week or so to catch up on the news; we've been doing it for a couple of years now. I told them about him; they naturally pressed me for details. I shrugged and filled them in.

“On the first date? And you let him do that? You don't even know him!”

“Not directly, no, but I did do my homework first. He has no criminal record, and stays out of the news, so he's discreet. I spoke to one of his old flames; she okayed him.”

“That's not much to go on.”

“Oh, come on; I can hardly afford a private detective to investigate every man I want to date. There is always going to be some risk; that's part of the fun, after all.”

“Yes, but to let a man you never met before do that to you; that's a little too risky, don't you think?”

“With some men it would be, yes; but I had the feeling he wouldn't go too far. And I was right.”

“Feeling? And you were lucky; even if his intentions were honorable he could have harmed you unintentionally; you were not in a position to stop him, either.”

“That's part of it; surrendering myself, letting him do as he wished. Being in his power. That's exciting.”

They shook their heads and changed the subject, but their faces said they weren't convinced. No matter; it's my life and my choice, not theirs.


That Friday he called me at work. “I thought you might be hungry. Say Chinese? I know a good one over on Lexington.”

“Sounds good. I get off at five.”

“Fine. I'll pick you up then.”

The restaurant was Szechuan; spicy, lots of lamb and beef on the menu. We plied chopsticks amid various dishes and a heaping bowl of rice, all washed down with strong tea. You'll never get fat on it, but it will fill up the empty spaces. Afterward he drove me over to his place.

Nice place; roomy, especially the bedroom. That was big enough for a Roman orgy; a huge bed dominated the room. One door led off to the bathroom, which was bigger than some hotel rooms. Another door led to a walk in closet that could hold enough clothes for a small army. And a third door.

That one was locked. I looked over to where he was sitting on the bed watching me. “Bluebeard's closet, of course.” He tossed a key to me. “Pardon me while I fetch my axe.” I smiled at him, then turned and unlocked the door.

Another bedroom. A double bed in the middle, a pair of dressers against one wall, a wardrobe against the other. I turned; he was standing in the doorway. “The maid must have tidied up the bodies. My axe is missing, too; I'll have to speak to her about that.”

There was one slight difference, though; eyebolts. Dozens of them, on the bed frame, the ceiling, the walls, the floor. So this was where he played. “Go ahead, open them.” He pointed to the dressers and the wardrobe.

The one dresser was full of all sorts of fetish clothing; maid's outfits, catsuits, bikinis, leather, latex, satin, you name it. The second was full of rope, straps, cuffs, tape, scarves, blindfolds, gags, binders, and other restraints. The wardrobe held all manner of clamps, dildos, vibrators, whips, paddles, feathers, and other devices for giving pleasure and pain.

I took my time looking over it all.

“So what will be your pleasure tonight?”

Hmm. “That's … difficult. There are so many possibilities.”

“In that case I'll decide.”

I looked dubious at that. “I'm going to pull some things out and lay them on the bed. Anything you don't want, tell me and I'll put it back.” He started in.

“Okay, that's enough.” He looked at me; on the bed were three scarves and a single length of rope. “That's not very much.”

I smiled. “Let's see how creative you are.”


It turned out that he was very creative. The scarves blindfolded and gagged me; the one piece of rope tied my wrists behind me to my ankles. A hogtie, it's called, and it's quite effective. I wiggled naked on the bed, unable to make any progress toward freeing myself. I could hear him in the other bedroom, but he resolutely ignored what little noise I was able to make.

This was maddening; I couldn't touch him, or myself, or get free. The only thing I could do was wait for him to release me. He took his own sweet time about it, too. I struggled and squirmed and moaned and yelped to no avail.

“How are we doing?” I expressed my frustration as best I could; he just chuckled. “I see. Well, perhaps I can hurry matters along.” He began to caress me; a touch here, a touch there. Damn him; I wanted more.

More I got. By the time he really got down to business I was almost wild with desire; I wanted him NOW. Then the bastard eased off and backed away; I could have killed him. “Not yet; patience, my dear.” Patience, my posterior. Get your cock over here NOW!

A couple more times; winding me up, then easing off. By then I was nearly mad with frustration. When he finally entered I almost immediately climaxed; he kept going, of course. By the time we finished I had climaxed four more times and he had come twice as well.

He released me, then laid me on my stomach and gave me a thorough massage. Ah, that was heavenly. By the time he finished I was totally relaxed, limp; again we cuddled and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning we disentangled ourselves, then he made breakfast. Or rather he tried; it turns out he's no cook. I looked over his shoulder, then elbowed him aside and took over. “Let me do it; that way it will be edible. If you would get the coffee?” He scowled while I smiled sweetly, then shrugged and busied himself with the percolator. After breakfast he took me home; I kissed him goodbye at the door, then he drove off and I went in.


The girls were incredulous. “You let him do that? He could have killed you; nobody would have known.”

I snorted. “He's not like that. He's never hurt me, not even a little. And he knows what he's doing; he never leaves me alone.”

“Still; to let a man you barely know …”

“I trust him; and he has proven trustworthy.”

“Two dates is not much of a track record.”

I shrugged. They stared at me; I almost laughed. If I had a picture of their faces …


The next weekend he suggested a visit to the club. I wasn't really comfortable with that; it was one thing to do it in private, just the two of us. It was quite another to do it in public in front of strangers. He smiled at me. “If you mean sex, no. We don't do that. But we do dress up and parade our subs in the club. As for it being public, we are discreet. No one wants to have their sexual preferences publicized; that would adversely affect our professional lives.”

“Don't worry; no one outside the club will know. We'll make sure of that.”

I looked him in the eye. “How will we do that?”

He smiled. “Let me show you.”

I'm sitting in the passenger seat of his car. The windows are tinted, so no one can see in except through the windshield, which is good. I'm wearing a skin tight vinyl catsuit with matching stiletto boots; very stylish. The suit has zippers over my breasts and crotch for easy access. My arms are secured behind me in a vinyl sleeve; it's laced up and secured to a high stiff leather collar around my neck. My mouth is filled with a large ball gag. Over it all is a belted trench coat and wide brimmed hat.

We pulled into the parking garage. It's dark, already night; he opened the door and hustled me into the club. Unlikely anyone could see me, so my fears are largely unfounded. Inside the bouncer took my hat and coat and ushered us into the main room.

Nice; spacious, tastefully decorated, laid back atmosphere. Quiet; soft music playing. A few dozen people walking around with drinks, chatting. About half doms and half subs, dressed in everything from skimpy fetish wear to conservative business suits, like him. He clipped a leash onto my collar, snagged a drink from one of the waiters, and led me into the crowd.

“Good evening, Laura.”

Nice looking woman; tall, redhead, expensive pantsuit. “Good evening, Michael. I see you have a new one.” She led an attractive man on a thin leash.

He smiled at her. “I see you and James are still together. This is Susan.” I nodded by way of greeting.

They chatted for a minute, then she asked if he would take the gag out so she could chat with me. He grinned at that. “No, it stays in. But that shouldn't stop you.”

“But she can't talk!”

“She can still communicate. Ever play 'Twenty Questions'?”


“Same principle. Yes or no questions; nod for yes, shake for no. If she does neither she doesn't know the answer or is unwilling to answer.” He passed my leash to her and moved away to chat with someone else.

She worked it out by asking me to come to her office the next day for a chat; I agreed. After a couple of minutes she passed the leash back to him and moved off. He smiled at me, then someone mounted the stage and took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the contest.”

I looked quizzically at him. He smiled. “The doms will vote on which dom and sub make the best couple. The winning pair will be asked to put on a short performance on stage.” He looked back at the announcer. “It's unlikely we'll be chosen; I'm too conservative for their tastes.”

Unlikely is not impossible; we were chosen. He bowed to the assembly, then turned to me. “You don't have to go through with this if you don't want to. They'll be disappointed, but they'll understand. Do you want to perform?” I thought it over; why not? I was already here among them, in fetish wear, bound and gagged. I nodded, yes. He smiled; “Good. Here we go.”

He led me up on the stage and presented me. Then he reached up and pulled down a chain, which he attached to my collar. Next he produced a blindfold which he slipped into place. I felt him unzipping the suit; my breasts were exposed. The crowd murmured approval. Clamps on my nipples; weights tugged at them. More murmurs.

Zip. My crotch was exposed. Noise; a buzzing sound. I thrilled as the vibrator touched my labia, then withdrew; I stepped toward the sound, trying to bring it back. He kept touching, then withdrawing as I pursued it; a kinky game of tag. The crowd murmured some more.

It touched my clit; I nearly rose up on my toes. He held it there as I responded; ending in a shuddering climax. He pushed it further in, against my G spot; another climax. Then he pushed it all the way in, and I climaxed again, to the crowd's applause. He zipped my crotch up, holding it in place, then released me from the chain. We took a final bow, to another round of applause, then he led me off the stage into the crowd.

He leaned over and murmured into my ear. “It seems you have made quite an impression on them. My status has gone up tremendously.” I rubbed up against him; a gesture of approval. In truth the vibrator was effectively distracting me; I was having trouble staying on my feet.

Another voice; female. “May I?”


Zip. A soft, feminine hand reached in and manipulated the vibrator; I climaxed almost at once. She kept going; I arched my back as another climax swept over me. “Impressive. I envy you.” The hand withdrew; zip. I steadied myself.

We made our goodbyes and left. Zip. He reached in and massaged my crotch; another climax. My knees buckled; he steadied me. He pulled the vibrator out, then zipped me up again. Thank God; I was weak, nearly spent, from the constant stimulation. He removed the clamps and zipped up my breasts, then removed the blindfold, put on my hat and coat, and led me back out to the car. Back to his place, where we made long slow love to top off a wonderful evening.


The next day I went to Laura's office, in one of the innumerable buildings downtown. She brought me into her inner sanctum and seated me on a couch; she sat on the other end. Over coffee we had a nice long chat.

She had known Michael for years. “Yes, we did have a relationship, but never anything serious. I can be either submissive or dominant, according to circumstance or mood, but he is definitely dominant. That was too restrictive for me. We're still good friends, though.”

She smiled at me. “He's pretty intense, isn't he?”

“Yes; yes, he is.”

“Be careful. Take it slow. He tell you about her?”


“Take that seriously. It is really easy to get too far in, to lose yourself in it. Slow and easy.”

“That's what Marty said.”

“She's right. I repeat; be careful.”

“You think he'll harm me?”

“Not physically, no. He's never lifted a hand against anyone that I know of. But mentally and emotionally, yes. Not purposely, of course. But that intensity is bound to change the way you view him; to change the way you view yourself. Make sure that change is for the better.” She sipped her coffee. “If you are ever in doubt come see me; my door is always open.”

Updated: December 18, 2016 — 10:37 am
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