Rdo4y8 wrote: ↑6 months ago
The premise of this is truly fascinating and I’m enjoying it tremendously.
Thanks a lot!
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I was trembling and tapping my fingers against my steering wheel. They were not the just-before-an-important-exam or just-before-exam-results-are-dropped nerves but the certain-this-was-a-terrible-decision nerves.
I checked my red lipstick and dark blue eye makeup in the car mirror and changed from sneakers into cute black shoes with 3-inch heels. A knee-long dark blue skirt and an olive green buttoned shirt formed my look. The restaurant my potential sugar daddy had selected was fancy but not on a Michelin level. A white shirt made me look like a secretary, but I was also no bimbo. However, I still guessed, clueless about what was expected from me.
I grabbed the key out of the ignition and stepped out. My hands were soaked in sweat.
For whatever reason, the profile I had slapped together in the evening after the photoshoot got lots of traction. My dull, generic username “Bound4Ur<3” got featured. Dozens of guys sent me sweet and awful messages, and I feared thousands had seen my face on that website. Even on free dating apps, this was uncommon. My competition was sometimes better looking, but their profiles were often similar and uninspiring. Hiking, movies, and good food were not personalities. A few others had bondage in their profiles but lacked good photos. In comparison, Riley had shot perfect pictures. Then they would have group photos as if they were advertising their friend group and themselves, a horrible ill-lit selfie in front of a mirror, or it appeared too professional.
Still, I regretted not entering an Amazon wishlist. I liked free stuff.
I had not foreseen so much luck.
Or well, luck…
No reactions also ended the punishment dare.
Of the many messages I received in 12 hours, one man charmed me the most. Gregory sent me a face pic instantly because his profile had none like many potential sugar daddies. Around 60, thrice my age, he appeared well-maintained and friendly, which cleared my low bar. Being unmarried made things a lot easier. I did not want to cause a divorce and ruin some kid’s childhood. Dares should not hurt strangers.
But most importantly, Gregory did not start by promising money or sharing a fantasy of himself, describing how much he would love a beautiful young woman being restrained. Instead, he asked about me and the bondage, trying to get to know me. We ended up chatting about my bondage fantasy, public hidden bondage. I loved the idea of being bound under a sweater or jacket. He was very supportive of that idea. Although it was all very superficial, he had not creeped me out.
I waited until it was precisely 7 before entering. The front sent me to my awaiting date in the back. Gregory’s stare penetrated my clothes. I knew exactly how low I had gone.
I was almost disappointed Gregory was there and had not ghosted me. It also had been his real photo, and I did not smell alcohol, smoke, or weed.
“Hey, how are you doing!” I beamed. A hug seemed obligatory, but I made it swift. Now our weird meeting at least appeared like a father-daughter date. My retail experience really helped me through the situation. This could not be worse than dealing with a Karen wanting to return a three-week-old flower bouquet.
“Good, good, great to see you, Cyan. How are you doing? I have been waiting all week,” he replied as I sat down. “You have a cute profile but are even cuter in real life.” His short gray hair consisted of tiny spikes, and slim green eyes hid in his slender face. They pierced.
Sky, if you read this, you pulled me lightyears out of my comfort zone. Worst dare ever.
I wanted to start as a nerdy student and discuss bondage later. “I am doing great. It is the final week of classes, so I am a little stressed out but ready for the summer. I love to do something different and not worry about those exams tonight.”
A glass of wine stood beside his empty plate, but I did not want to order one. I had to drive back, and if this weirdly moved into a hotel room, I preferred being sober. I requested a limey drink.
He asked a simple question, signaling I had to expand further. “Doing well?” He wanted to get to know me. That was the goal of today: Was I interesting enough? Willing? His type?
“Good, but not on top. 3.7 GPA.” First, I had to show that I was not a party girl and took my studies seriously. In his profile, Gregory noted he preferred someone with ambition who would have a career beside him. He wanted someone to talk to, which seemed code for wanting more than just sex.
“I like mathematics, but I am far from smart or obsessed enough to compete with the best.” I had not mentioned the exact major in my profile, fearing it would scare men away.
“That’s tough. I was never good at it.”
I smiled. Even my hairdresser made such silly comments. “Studying the violin would be a lot harder for me.”
“So you like it? Good. What are your plans afterward? Academia or industry?”
It was not the dumbest question. “Not sure. I never plan so far ahead.”
I answered the questions before moving on to tell more about myself. I had made a decent impression but knew no one was interested in my actual studies. As a selling point, I had put cooking as a hobby, and growing up with my parents having a successful restaurant, I had respectable knowledge. Apparently, child labor is permitted when it is a family business. You do it together, right?
After finishing the first course, a squid salad that looked professional but had weak, unexciting flavors, Gregory finally spoke about himself. He was a corporate lawyer, a partner even, at a firm I had never heard of. Apparently, it was prestigious. He had two adult sons, so my age, from an old marriage. But that was all I had to work with.
The main course followed, and it was already much better. The meat was of high quality and prepared well. Sadly, Gregory wanted more than small talk. “So, what made you decide to do this?
Oops.
“Well, I talked with a good online friend, and she suggested trying this out. That was a week ago. I made my profile, and now I am here.”
“And you’re serious about doing this?”
Hard-hitting questions. The lawyer put me on the witness stand.
“Serious? I want to give it a real shot. However, if I am frank with you, I’m not desperate. If it turns out you are a horrible person, I will walk away.” If this was a dealbreaker, it was better to know it right now.
The older man before me studied my face. The green eyes, like a CGI snake from a movie decades ago, showed no clear emotion. Amusement at most.
I sipped from the sole glass of wine I would drink tonight. It paired nicely with the main course. Wine was almost mandatory at these places.
“Good,” he spoke, unbothered by the silence. “Perfect. Thus... you don’t refrain from being truthful?”
“I’m a terrible liar.” I had to look away. “I can sugarcoat and tell white lies but cannot lie straight to someone’s face.”
Funnily, the last remark was unnecessary. Whatever the truth, Gregory could not conclude anything.
He nodded, apparently pleased. Then he told me he wanted to know more about me, especially “the kinky part.” As I knew his name, position, and employer, he had more to lose in a blackmailing battle. Thus, I could tell him everything. Yes, everything.
I told him about my struggles to find a tie-up buddy and how it had not worked out with my previous boyfriends. I told him about our site (just shying away from giving him a URL), where we discussed our dares. It was embarrassing, knowing how stupid it sounds when you say it. Gregory listened carefully, asking a few sharp questions.
“So this date is a dare?”
“Yeah, but it was meant as advice. The girl who dared me thought it was a good idea for me, so I want to try it out,” I repeated, matching eyes. “Also, I won’t write much about this date publically, especially no personal information. I am not toying with you.”
He seemed satisfied. “If you’re not really into being ordered to do things, why is being dared okay?”
It made me pause. Understanding yourself is hard. “Dares make me feel more like an equal. I can say no. I might lose some face, but there are no consequences. If I do it, it is a win. But for orders, you cannot win, only lose when you don’t do them,” I phrased carefully. “The difference is subtle, but I like to make my own choices and be responsible. What you read about these 24/7 relationships, where you do whatever you are commanded to do and obey like a brainless robot, does not suit me. I like to be challenged, physically and mentally. I love to come up with ideas and be creative, while I have a desire to be stuck in ropes as well. I am also not really sure if I want to call someone master and be called a slave. That doesn’t feel good.”
He nodded. Despite all our chats, I still did not know his kinks. He was a top, but then there was still so much possible. Wait? Why was I thinking about this? This date should have failed.
Gregory leaned in, intrigued, but his face revealed I had surprised him, maybe crossed a line. He paid me, so my specific preferences should not matter. I collected myself.
“So, what are your preferences? What kind of relationship do you envision?”
Again, I was too direct, but he did not make it easy on me. Either Gregory was not a talker and just enjoyed my awkward company, or he enjoyed leaving me hanging.
“I’m not that particular up front and prefer to let it evolve naturally,” my date replied. “Just be yourself. Then we enjoy the world of kinks and see what, and if it, works out.”
I nodded, seeing the desert arrive. Cheese. I struggled. Gregory had stated some facts about himself but had trouble describing his feelings. Maybe I should have approached it more like a job interview, where you are scrutinized, than a date.
“Can I ask you something rude?” Gregory wanted no more personal questions.
“Sure!”
“I have a dare for you…” Gregory declared, eyes sparkling.
I sighed audibly, a little afraid. Did he want sex in the bathroom here?
“It’s just warm-up.”
He fumbled in his briefcase and placed something on my leg under the table. “Cyan, I dare you to give me your panties, and in exchange, you tie your upper legs together under your skirt. Deal?”
This could have been much worse. Easy. I blushed.
“I accept.”
At first, I thought I would walk to the bathroom, but we were in a corner in a busy restaurant. Time to show off. I had to add risk. The table next to us was empty, and the group of businessmen two tables away were rowdy and a little drunk. They would not notice. I did not look behind me, but that was part of the fun.
I pushed myself up from the chair with one hand as the other slid under my skirt and pulled my white panties to my knees. I bent my ankles back and peeled the cotton off, hiding it in my hand. Over the table, I passed it to my date, who was taken aback. I chuckled, even more embarrassed, but I had already been prepared for much worse in a hotel room.
“You can keep them.”
I put them in my handbag. Under the table, I found the ends of the rope, doubled it, rounded it twice around my legs, and cinched it. It was not tight enough to hurt, and I grabbed another piece of cheese when my skirt covered the bondage. “Satisfied?”
“Certainly.” The man in front of me grinned. He liked what the much younger woman in front of him had done. We finished the dessert without much talking, and then Gregory paid the bill. Our waitress seemed delighted with her tip, so this man was not a cheapskate.
We walked out of the restaurant slowly as my legs could not go very fast. We said goodbye in the car park, where Gregory handed me a pink envelope. I entered my car, untied the rope around my legs, and opened the envelope. It contained 500 dollars. I earned about the same from working part-time at the garden center for two weeks, thus 40 hours. Fuck, this was easy money.