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A friend gave me his smartphone number weeks ago. "Call him. Just call him," she said. I’d stopped dating. It wasn’t the guys. Well, maybe a little. "Look, I’m over ‘relationships’ for the moment. I just want to be by myself for awhile. That’s all." My friend shrugged. "Call him," she said again. I was the youngest of 3 girls. Hardening up, I’d observed my and their fellow friends. Clumsy kisses in the barn. Palms groping, shoveled away, more groping. I had dreams, murky photos in my head. And I’d massaged with myself some nights, unsatisfied, my groping enhancing my longing. Like lollipops were doing now. Oh, I’d had lots of lollipops the last few years, large ones, puny ones. lollipops that were hair-trigger, and lollipops that had to be coaxed. lollipops that enjoyed your basic fuck, and lollipops that wanted anything but your basic fuck. And I’d lie in couch afterwards with every one of those lollipops (never guys, or men, just cocks), damp, salty, from time to time groping in the dark after they commenced snoring, and I wanted more, less, nothing, everything. I wanted something I couldn’t admit to myself. I wanted and wanted, but I was afraid. "Call him," my friend said. It was the thought of lounging in the dark that stopped me from calling, and the smell of supposed love, and the emptiness, the loneliness, the unhappiness that was always worse after it was over. I was groping in the dark. When I ultimately made the call, he told me to come alone and to wear a miniskirt and blouse. No underwear. My Palms shook. I hairless everything that night. Everything but my head. I shoveled a tabouret in front of the mirror and sat in it, naked. I caressed myself, my legs opened up and soles resting against the wall on either side of the mirror. I investigated each fold of my labia and cunt, then caressed my frigs to my mouth, tasting myself. And I fondled my breasts, watching, frolicking with my puffies until they hardened. I slid my frigs in and out of myself, the frigs of one arm in my asshole, the frigs of the other in my cunt. And all the while, I watched. I was a stranger to myself. I was nobody I’d ever faced before. The first-ever thing he did that night was to truss me leaned over a cage. Some other chick was locked inwards of it. "You think I’m going to penetrate you?" he said, bending close, but not rubbing me. "Only if you’re lucky." And he cocked his head, his eyes sad, as tho he pitied me. "Don’t worry." He sneered then, but it made me shiver. "I’m only going to hurt you a little." I wanted to say something sexy. I wanted to make him want me. I wanted to do all the things I’d learned thru the years, the way a chick takes control. But I couldn’t. I was falling. I was out of control. I was breaking into pieces. He sneered because he knew everything the moment he spotted me. He’d observed my eyes stroll once he’d unlocked the door to his "special room" and led me inside. The walls were decorated with straps, ropes, chain, shackles. My figure was on fire. That night he cut my apparel off me. He shackled me to a iron bar. He locked a strong steel band on my neck. Chain between my legs, around my breasts. iron in my mouth, my ass. iron clothespins clipping my nipples. And later, wand in my cunt. He opened up me out spread-eagle, lounging on my back. He packaged leather around my neck and tightened. He cut off my air. He made me come over and over. After he was done with me and let me loose, I kneeled in front of him and kissed his boots. He put a thinner band on my neck and locked it in place. "You’ll do everything I say. When I call, you’ll come immediately." I gawped at the floor. "Yes sir." "You’re mine now." I shivered, not from cold, but from something else, something new, an electricity. For the first-ever time, I wasn’t groping in the dark anymore. "Yes sir."