You’re not rich until you have something money can’t buy.

pexels-photo-333850.jpeg

Then there was MS, who I met on Alt.com

He messaged me out of the blue, and his profile interested me. His picture was tempting, and the introduction read well; he billed himself as an experienced dominant and sadist. Perhaps I was onto something here? Conversation flowed easily and he seemed genuine (and sane) so we swapped telephone numbers and became friends on fetlife. After chatting for a while we arranged to meet socially. He owned a hotel and it seemed a sensible idea to meet there for a drink in the bar on a saturday evening. It was at the tail end of the summer season, but there were still plenty of  people about.

I had definitely learnt a lesson from my meeting with A

This time I had a safety call set up. During my visit to M he said he would be happy to do that for me. M knew where I would be, how long I expected to be there and contact details. When I arrived there were cars parked outside, and he was waiting outside to meet me. Not quite as the picture on his profile suggested he would be, but age was the factor there, rather than being a different person. He looked a little flustered, and explained that he had arrived and all of his staff had vanished. As he made phone calls to his missing staff I checked in with M, saying that all was ok, and I’d message again in an hour once I was on my way again. When we went through to the deserted bar conversation began to flow again. He was charming and seemed very pleasant, much like he had in our conversations online. After a drink he asked if I would like to have a look at his equipment? He hosted parties at his hotel, and had a room in the basement where he could store the bits and pieces.

So I checked in with M again, an hour added to the clock.

Down into the cellar we went. He had a spanking bench and a selection of canes and crops which I had a look at. We had been getting on well so when he offered me a caning, so I offered up my breasts and climbed onto the spanking bench. I thoroughly enjoyed the impromptu play session, and it didn’t go further than the caning; safety first I had kept my trousers on and wasn’t restrained. With my breasts swollen and marked we stopped playing, and he put away the equipment while I put myself away. Then we collected a curry and ate it in the hotel restaurant. All ok so far! Then, as I was about to head home he pulled out a roll of notes, and tried to hand me a handful.

Euch!! Not again… What is it with men doing this?

When I declined he got irate, so I made my excuses and left. Messaging him later I explained how he and his actions had made me feel, saying that I wouldn’t be meeting him again but thank you for a mostly pleasant evening. Then came the oddness! He started by sending me messages throughout the day “I know what you want” and “I know what you need.” I’m not sure why he felt that way, but he didn’t know me well enough to know any of that, it was just posturing on his part, and if he had known what I needed at that point he would have just left me alone.

Over the course of the week after our meeting my breasts turned from hot pink swollen globes to purple puddles of bruise. 

I love marks, post play memories of good times… These marks made me feel sick though. I don’t know if it was the extent of the bruising, or the constant barrage of messages. It could have been drop, or it maybe it was the random nature of the play and pushing boundaries with someone I didn’t know, there were lots of things to think about for future play partnerships. For now though I told him that I would block him if he didn’t stop telling me what I wanted and needed, because what I really wanted and needed was for him to leave me alone! All was quiet and life returned to normal, it was lovely to have radio silence from that side of things.

Three weeks later I was sitting in my office at work when the postman buzzed up with a parcel for me.

For me personally. I wasn’t expecting anything, I would have had it delivered to my home if I were. Fortunately I was usually the only member of staff in my office, so when I opened the parcel and pulled out the contents I could not have been more grateful for lone working! I pulled out a stunning leather spanking suit. Who it was from I had no idea, the only people who knew that I worked where I did were, Sir, MrN and M. None of them would have sent me that, surely?? I stuffed it into my bag and continued with my day, confused and a little worried if I’m honest.

A few days later I received a fetlife message from MS.

“I see the suit has been delivered, I hope you like it.” What on earth was he thinking? I was livid! I was also a little bit freaked out!! I hadn’t told him where I worked only the type of work I did, also he only knew my first name. I think perhaps he had gotten lucky (fingers crossed) and at least he didn’t know my home address. I told him off, and asked him not to contact me again. How dare he track me down and try to buy me? I was not for sale, to him or anyone else. pexels-photo-164652.jpeg

10 thoughts on “You’re not rich until you have something money can’t buy.

    1. It was all very odd, but I am infinitely curious about people, and he makes a very interesting person to look back at. And across at… I am now an active member of the community and I keep half an eye on his activities…better the devil you know and all that.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. So true and very wise😉 I imagine it is a bit strange seeing him this way. At least you didn’t go into hiding and stayed out there. It is a show of strength…even more so coming from a submissive. Who, by the way, I think are often the strongest among us.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. I shake my head at some of the stories I read about Doms who pull things like this. I’m so happy I’ve not had to experience anything close to what you have. I’m happy you are all good now though. 😊

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s