The Commitment(12)

There were several different women captured in the images. One was dark haired, anther was blonde with short cropped hair and tattoos. Still another was very tall and had dark hair and long limbs like a model. All were blindfolded, and unless they were performing oral sex, they were gagged. They were all restrained in various poses, some on their backs, others on their knees before him, yet others from behind. In one I could see clearly that Drake was performing anal sex.

I closed the book, my face hot, my body numb.

Drake put the vodka down on the table and turned me to face him. He took my chin in his hand and forced me to look in his eyes.

"Are you OK?" he said, his voice soft. "That's quite… personal."

"They're beautiful," I said, my voice cracking a bit. "The pictures are gorgeous and erotic at the same time. I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have opened it. I feel like a voyeur."

He smiled a bit at that. "I wanted them beautiful rather than pornographic. To me, D/s is an art. Photographs should convey that."

"Do you use them to, you know," I said, not really certain how to frame my question. "Get off when you don't have a partner?"

"No," he said, and smiled. "I mean, I have before. I'm not going to lie. But they're meant more as a tribute to my former submissives. I don't want to have any photos out there that directly identify me. I gave them all copies of their photographs in a special book."

He handed me one of the shot glasses. I sniffed it – Anisovaya, of course.

"You've hardly done anything with me, have you?"

He shook his head. "Don't want to go too fast with you. Besides," he said and held up his glass to me, indicating I should drink. "All this messy love stuff got in the way."

I couldn't help but smile at that. Messy love stuff…

"Drink up," he said.

I did, shooting back the vodka, its spice of anise seed a familiar taste that I had begun to associate with pleasure. It burned in a nice way going down my throat, warming my stomach. Before I'd barely recovered from the taste, he leaned down and kissed me, his tongue sucking mine into his mouth. When he pulled back, he brushed a lock of hair from my cheek.

"What's going on in that mind of yours? You must feel something about those pictures."

I turned back to the images and considered.

"Why does bondage excite you?" I examined one in which the sub was suspended off the ground, bound, gagged, blindfolded.

"Bondage puts a sub in a certain headspace. Unable to move or escape, she's also unable to resist. It's liberating. She can't help but feel what I make her feel. She can respond even more than normal to what I do because she has no other choice. Her body is mine. Her mind is mine. She's no longer responsible and as a result, she can feel everything without guilt."

I nodded, having had brief moments of that sensation of helplessness and openness. When I was tied up, I felt free. It was a paradox. One I was slowly exploring with him.

He took this really seriously. This was more than just a kinky preference but a passion. He spent considerable time binding his submissives with his leather restraints. In his rope work, the knots were intricate and placed in specific locations for aesthetic purposes and I suspected, for erotic purposes as well. In some photos, the ropes threaded between the submissive's labia. Their breasts were bound, the flesh spilling over the sides of the rope, nipples erect and jutting out.

Would he eventually do that to me?

Drake took my empty shot glass and placed it on the table beside the photo album. He took the album in his hands and led me over to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling me down onto his lap. Then, he opened the album to the first page.

"Tell me what you feel when you see these."

I inhaled and examined that first one. "They're very artistic. Did you set them up yourself or did you have a professional photographer do them?"

"A professional photographer who specializes in BDSM."

"Were the poses your ideas or his?"

"Mine." His chin rested on my shoulder as I sat on his lap. I turned a few more pages. They were taken in a loft with hardwoods and exposed brick, the bed a prop, the windows covered by gauze curtains, letting in ample light. Everything was tasteful.

"What do those make you feel?" he said once more.

I hesitated. "Jealous." I flipped the page. Those women were so lucky. He kept the images in his bedroom by his bed. He'd masturbated to them before.

"Envy." I said, my voice quiet. "Aroused."

He nodded, his chin resting on my shoulder. "What arouses you the most?"

I wasn't sure what image aroused me the most. I flipped through them, back and forth, and came to rest on one of the first blonde woman on her back, blindfolded, gagged, her hands bound, her feet bound. She wore nylons and a leather corset, her breasts spilling out over the top. Drake knelt between her knees, naked, splitting her labia with his erection. I pointed to it. "This."