Getting Into the Swing of Things: Part 1

Where Obedience is Learned, and Pleasure is Earned

The craving had been growing in me for months, quiet at first, then louder, hungrier and harder to ignore. I didn’t even fully understand what I wanted, not at first. Just this restless ache, this need to be unraveled.

Not gently. Not safely tucked away in the bedroom with the lights dimmed and the door locked. I wanted to be seen. No, I wanted to be exposed.

There was something about the idea of being used in front of others that made my breath catch in my throat.

It wasnt shame, it was longing. It wasn’t about performance, it was about surrender. About being claimed so fully that nothing else existed, not even my own resistance.

When Fabian brought up the club, my heart hammered in my chest. Fear and excitement tangled inside me, but I said yes anyway.

Maybe because I trusted him. Maybe because I didn’t know how not to. Maybe because some part of me needed to be broken open in order to finally feel whole.

Fabian didn’t push. He never pushed. Instead, one evening, after dinner, he looked at me with that steady, knowing gaze, the one that always makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world. He spoke softly, almost hesitantly.

“There’s a place I want us to try,” he said. “A club. A place where we can explore everything we’ve talked about…..and more.”

I felt my pulse quicken, my breath hitch. His words stirred something deep inside me, a mix of fear, curiosity, and raw desire. I could see how much he wanted this, how much he wanted me to want it too.

He didn’t demand. He offered. And somehow, that made all the difference. Because I wasn’t just agreeing to a place or an experience, I was agreeing to trust him with my most vulnerable parts.

After Fabian’s words hung between us, silence wrapped around the room like thick velvet. I could feel the warmth of his hand on mine, steady and grounding, even as my heart raced in wild stutters.

The faint scent of his cologne, spicy, familiar, mixed with the lingering aroma of our dinner, grounding me in the present even as my mind spun ahead to unknown places. I swallowed hard, the dryness in my throat sharp and real.

Images flickered behind my eyelids, dark rooms lit by soft, red glows; whispered moans mingling with heavy breaths; skin slick with sweat and heat. My body tingled at the thought, a slow pulse of electricity tracing along my spine.

And yet, fear curled in my belly like a cold stone. What would it feel like to be seen? To be touched by strangers? To surrender so fully that I lost myself?

Fabian’s eyes caught mine, anchoring me. I felt his breath, calm and sure, warm against my cheek. It told me I was safe. That whatever came next, we would face it together.

The decision wasn’t simple, but it settled deep inside me, a spark igniting into flame. I nodded slowly, feeling the softness of his palm squeeze mine in reassurance. I said yes, and with that, a new part of me stirred awake, hungry, alive, ready.

When I said yes to Fabian, I didn’t know how much I was giving up, or how much I secretly wanted to.

From the moment he took over, booking the hotel without telling me, choosing every detail, I felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension wash over me.

It was like a heavy weight settling on my shoulders, but somehow, it steadied me instead of crushing me.

There was a part of me that feared losing myself in his plans, being reduced to just something to be directed and displayed.

But beneath that fear, a deeper hunger stirred: the longing to surrender fully, to trust someone so completely that the edges of my own will blurred and softened.

When he packed my bag with the outfits he chose, tight leather, straps, some things I had never seen before now and never would have picked myself, my heart hammered with a wild, almost frightening excitement.

I was terrified and thrilled to feel so vulnerable, knowing I had no say, no power to refuse. And yet, I wanted that. I needed that.

In the car, his steady presence was both comforting and commanding. Every time he reached over to adjust my collar or slide a hand along my thigh, a spark flared inside me, part fear, part yearning.

I felt exposed, fragile, and utterly alive all at once.

As we pulled into the hotel driveway, my breath caught in my throat. I was terrified of what tonight would bring, but even more terrified of what might happen if I didn’t take this step.

Because maybe, just maybe, letting go was the only way I could finally find myself.

The elevator doors closed, and with them, the outside world seemed to vanish. I stood there in silence, the soft hum of the lift vibrating beneath my heels, Fabian’s presence just behind me like a storm held at bay.

He hadn’t touched me since the car, but I could feel the promise of his hands, in the tension of his stillness, in the quiet discipline of his breath.

I stared at my reflection in the polished doors. My face looked calm. Almost detached.

But inside, I was a storm of contradictions, excitement laced with fear, pride tangled with shame, a longing so sharp it bordered on pain.

What kind of woman says yes to this? The question flickered at the edge of my thoughts.

A woman who’s tired of being in control. A woman who wants to be broken open, just enough to let something new inside. A woman who trusts him.

When we entered the hotel room, the air felt heavier, as if it knew what was about to happen.

Before I could fully take in the space, I heard him shut the door behind us and say, with a voice like velvet laced with steel:

“Clothes off. Now.”

And just like that, the switch inside me flipped. I stopped thinking. My body moved before my mind could catch up.

The zipper on my dress caught slightly, and I almost apologised. But I remembered the rules. No excuses. No hesitation.

I let the fabric fall to the floor. The air kissed my skin, cool against the heat that flushed my chest and thighs. My nipples hardened instantly, aching under the sudden exposure.

My pussy was already wet, shamelessly so. My little hole slick with anticipation, my whole body attuned to the moment like it had been waiting years for this exact command.

I felt like I was stepping out of my identity, shedding Melissa, the woman who organises, manages, plans, and becoming something else. Something simpler. Something his.

He walked around me like I was a piece of art he owned. I could feel his eyes trace every freckle, every curve, every flaw. I wanted to cover myself. I wanted him to never stop looking.

The shame burned hot in my belly, but it was laced with something deeper, the thrill of exposure, of surrender.

“Hands behind your back,” he said. “Eyes down.”

Obeying made me feel small, not in a degrading way, but in a way that gave me relief. Like I could finally stop performing. Like I could rest inside the space he carved out for me.

And then he said it, quietly, like a knife sliding between two ribs:

“You’re not mine tonight. You’re theirs. But I get to give you to them. And I get to watch.”

The words landed like thunder. I felt something twist inside me, a sharp edge of humiliation, yes, but also something else. Permission. Permission to be ruined. To be craved. To be completely, utterly used.

The version of me that had always needed to stay composed, well-behaved, competent, good, she would’ve run.

But that part of me had no voice here. Not with my hands behind my back. Not with my heart pounding in my ears.

I heard the soft sound of a zipper, then the click of metal.

When I looked up, I saw him laying out the items from his case on the bed: leather cuffs. A collar. A leash. The outfit, straps, buckles, and almost nothing else.

My throat tightened, but I kept my voice steady.

“I’m yours to dress,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Yours to give. Yours to use.”

He looked at me for a long moment, and something in his eyes softened, not with mercy, but with reverence. Like I’d just handed him something sacred.

He moved toward me slowly, taking his time. I didn’t dare look up. My hands stayed folded behind my back, my chest rising and falling with each breath I tried to control.

There was a heaviness inside me now, not dread, not exactly. It felt like standing on the edge of something I’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.

It surprised me, how close I was to tears.

Not from pain. Not even from fear. But from something older. Something deeper.

I remembered being twelve, sitting on my bedroom floor with the door locked, trying to fold my clothes into perfect squares because the world outside that room felt like it could fall apart at any moment.

My parents were fighting again. The yelling, the slammed doors, the silences that followed, they taught me early that chaos was dangerous.

That order was survival. That if I could just stay ahead, stay good, stay in control… maybe I’d be safe.

But I wasn’t that girl anymore. And tonight, I wasn’t the woman who managed every detail of her life to avoid uncertainty. Tonight, I was something else. Something raw and brave and terrified.

Fabian didn’t know all those details, not the way I did. But I think he sensed it. I think he always had.

That the part of me that needed to be held down wasn’t weak, it was ancient. It was tired. And he wasn’t here to break me. He was here to free me.

“Kneel,” he said gently. And I did.

The carpet was soft beneath my knees, but I felt every fiber like a truth pressed into skin.

My thighs trembled slightly as I settled into position, knees apart, spine straight, hands resting on my thighs, palms up.

I heard him open the case again. I didn’t look. I waited. Listening to the quiet rustle of straps and buckles.

Then he stepped close. I felt his fingers at my throat, steady, careful, as he fastened the collar around my neck.

A strange sound left my lips, something between a sigh and a sob. It wasn’t sadness. It was release.

He leaned down close to my ear, his voice low and calm.

“You don’t have to hold anything anymore.”

And in that moment, I didn’t. I let go. Of the girl. Of the armor. Of the rules I’d written to survive.

I let myself kneel fully in my submission, not because I was weak, but because I was ready to be seen.

Fabian stood over me in the hotel room, his gaze fixed and unreadable. The collar was already snug around my neck, warm from his fingers, its weight pressing into me with quiet finality.

No leash. Not yet. That part, he said, would come later, once I was ready to be revealed.

"Take a breath,” he said, his voice low but anchored in certainty. I obeyed, drawing in the scent of the hotel room, soap, cologne, leather.

He began dressing me with a kind of reverence, but there was no softness in his movements. Each touch was deliberate, claiming.

The black leather harness wrapped around my body like a question I had already answered.

It didn’t cover, it displayed. Framed. Exposed.

My nipples hardened more in the cool air, aching slightly as he adjusted the straps that circled them, not too tight, just enough to remind me of who they belonged to tonight.

The thigh straps sat snug over my hips, dipping low over my mound, leaving no room for modesty or confusion.

He clipped a small D-ring into the center of the chest piece, subtle, but meaningful. Symbolic. Something that said: she is his.

“Arms up,” he said. I obeyed again, breath catching as he eased a long, heavy coat over my shoulders. It swallowed everything, the harness, my bareness, the trembling need under my skin.

Only we would know what I wore underneath. That knowledge curled around me like smoke. Shame. Arousal. Power. Power that didn’t belong to me, and yet was moving through me all the same.

He buttoned the coat for me, slowly. One by one. Every movement was precise, controlled. When he reached the top button, he paused.

His fingers grazed the collar that peeked out just beneath the coat’s neckline. His eyes met mine.

“You’re mine,” he said, like he was naming me.

Not asking. I swallowed hard and nodded. I felt like something sacred, and a little bit hunted.

As we stepped into the hallway and made our way down to the lobby, the contrast between my outward appearance and the reality beneath it made my skin buzz.

No one could see what I truly was, what I had allowed myself to become for him tonight.

I looked like a woman going out with her partner. But I didn’t feel like that woman anymore. I felt like a secret waiting to be unwrapped.

Part 2 coming soon………….