Page 2 of Bounds of Passion

“I bet you did, you slut!”

“If I’m a slut, then I got it from you,” Lydia smirked. “Oh, god, Carol has it really come to this? BDSM? Should I buy a leather catsuit?”

“Ask your fuck-buddy,” Carol drained her coffee. “He might have some recommendations.”

The two friends parted company and the conversation left Lydia wondering. She was a prolific sex-seeker, but Carol was right… She was a vanilla woman at the end of the day. She imagined being tied up and whipped with a stick, but it didn’t seem to be turning her on. Maybe she did need someone to introduce her into this new world, someone who could teach her and show her how it was done. She raced to the bus and got straight onto her smartphone to check out the sites. She had to shield her phone from the other passengers, and when she got home, she had joined ‘BDSM Life Online’, placed an advert for a ‘partner’ and had listed her credentials.

As she cooked her dinner she kept refreshing the connection on the phone, eager to see if anyone had yet replied to her ad. There was a tingling in her stomach as her anxiety increased. She was still unsure if she would reply even is she did get a message. She kept checking but drew nothing but a blank screen and eventually she just gave up.

There were no replies that night, and Lydia went to sleep in her clean white bed feeling ever so slightly disappointed.

Chapter Two

Lydia woke early and began her usual morning routine. She went for a light jog, showered, got ready for work and ate her breakfast. As she sat at the table she kept thinking of the dream she had that night. It had been both a little frightening and slightly erotic. She remembered vaguely that a dark, handsome and mysterious man had kidnapped her and taken her to a huge room in some strange building.

She had been blindfolded and tied to a chair however the more she tried to recall what had happened next, the more hazy it got. This train of thought reminded her of the ad she had placed the previous day and she stared at the screen excitedly as she switched on her phone.

There was one single message and she put her glasses on to read it.

Dear Lydia,

My name is Jack Riding. I am a professional, lifestyle dominant male, and I was interested to read your advertisement.

I specialise in introducing newbies and vanilla lifestyles to our darker, forbidden world. I refuse to switch to a submissive role, something people often find difficult to deal with; I hope you are more understanding.

If you wish to discuss a potential partnership, please meet me at the Coffee Shop Corner at noon. I am there most days. I will be wearing a pair of blue glasses – they are quite distinctive.

Looking forward to our potential relationship,

Jack Riding.

Lydia took a deep breath and read the email several times. It was an internet dating nightmare all over again. Meet me here; I’ll be wearing that. Typical. She closed her phone down and lay staring at the ceiling, tempted to ignore the message and carry on hunting for that pleasure-giver in the flesh. Then the words of Carol floated back into her mind.

“I am too vanilla,” she said to herself. “Fuck it, I’ll go. If he’s not what I’m looking for I can always leave – pretend I never saw him. After all, he doesn’t know what I look like,” she threw back the covers and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror. She tilted her dark head on one side as she assessed her body.

She was a short woman, and had worked hard to maintain a slender physique. She kept her hair long to make herself look taller, and wore clothes that accentuated her breasts – in her opinion, they were her best asset. She smiled. She would blow him away, whoever he was.

Lydia picked out a pair of her skinny jeans and a logo-splattered t-shirt. She had no intention of ‘trying too hard’, and the twenty-six year old knew that formal clothes would age her, so she dressed casually. The time was right and she went out, walking with her head held high and her conscience clear. She was Lydia Westwood and she was unstoppable.

“Can I get a latte and a muffin, please?” she waited at the counter and scanned the seated customers. No one with blue glasses was in, but then she was a little early. Taking her order, she chose a seat in the window and watched the passers-by.

I wonder how many of them have had a proper orgasm? She thought as she watched the woman trit-trotting past her in their heels. And how many of these men are capable of giving me one? She looked at the suits, t-shirts and vests as they patrolled past, with bags or carriers or envelopes. They were all headed somewhere, why wasn’t she?

“Lydia Westwood?” a deep, accented voice came from above her. She looked up, surprised that she hadn’t noticed anyone approach, and her grey eyes locked onto a tall, suited man’s big set of blue ones. He was wearing electric blue spectacles and had the nicest shade of blo

nde hair Lydia had ever seen on a man. He was smiling in a bemused kind of way and carrying two lattes to go.

“Yes, hello,” she started to rise to shake his hand and instead of shaking it, the man helped her to her feet.

“Get your bag, let’s go,” he indicated the take-away coffees, and Lydia was too surprised to say ‘no’. She grabbed her things and followed him out of the shop and stood as he hailed a cab.

“Jack Riding?” she asked, still unsure.

“Who else would it be?” he grinned as a cab pulled up. He held the door open. “Ladies’ first,” he said and got in after her. The cab pulled off and Jack gave an address in central London.

“Where are we going?” Lydia asked, watching familiar streets turn to unfamiliar ones.

“Back to my place, if you don’t mind,” he replied, handing her one of the coffees. She sipped it gratefully. “It’s easier to do these things in a familiar place,” he brought out a piece of paper and handed it to her. “This is a contract,” he explained. “You’ll want to read it and sign it. I’ve taken the liberty of signing it already,” he pointed to a swirling, artistic scrawl at the bottom of the page.

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