Ten
You know you got it bad when you’re having a business dinner with your future sister-in-law and all you can think about is how quickly can this fucking dinner be over with so I can go home and blow my man?
Hi, my name is Nymph Domi. Pleasure to meet you.
I rushed home, mainly to shower and get myself mentally prepared. I know Ian wouldn’t show up until a couple of hours later. Still, I’ve been had some bondage done to me before and I liked it. But I think Sir wants to go further now.
Am I ready for it? Can I actually handle this?
I walk into the bedroom to undress for a bath when I see a note on the bed from Ian:
Pet,
I want you as you are when I arrive home. Do not wash yourself. Until then, here’s a set of tasks for you –
Write down what you’re grateful for. Get into the habit of doing it every day.
Beside this note is a key. It’ll lead you to the only locked door in this home besides the entry doors. Open it and explore. Write down any questions you may have.
Sir
I read the note no short of a dozen times before I held it against my mouth. I could still smell his faint cologne on it. I softly bit my lips and thought about what He had in store for me. There was only one way to find out.
I took the key and began searching throughout our townhome for the mysterious room. I never wandered too much around here before. Not that I felt I was intruding on Ian’s life, I just never had that much curiosity other than the dance studio and our bedroom.
Walking through the home, I finally got to see how understatedly luxurious it is. It looks like a home that belongs to a housewife or a family. Nothing about it stands out in ‘This is rich.’ Instead, I see the plushest sofas, the most comfortable beds with a thread-count I didn’t even know could go that high, and the softest cotton towels.
Stepping into it, I wouldn’t think a member of the world’s richest families lived here.
Emma’s and Gerald’s home reads like a layout for Architectural Digest and I can see the effort they both put into it. A lot of the pieces they own are imported from Italy, China, and a lot of it from London.
Ian must’ve shopped at the same interior designer because I can recall he’s done the same, but his home feels very different. It’s almost as if I can put my feet up on the expensive oak coffee table (I don’t) and relax while catching up on Love & Hip-Hop Hollywood (okay, that I do watch because I love me some messy drama).
Like a maze, I go from room to room, trying to find the door to this mysterious key. Knowing there’s only the dance studio and the gym upstairs, there’s not point of going there to search for it. Instead, I stayed on the sprawling first floor, diving in and out of four bedrooms, and three bathrooms.
Still, nothing.
Exhausted, I made my way to Ian’s closet and pondered if I’d missed something. If I searched all of the rooms and couldn’t find anything what other room would I have…
…another light bulb goes off…
…what’s behind those curtains?
His closet is roughly the size of a small trendy boutique one would find on Melrose. He has nothing but designer suits, jeans, sweaters, and whatever rich white men with all of the money in the world can afford. His underwear is neatly categorized in three piles – boxer briefs, boxers, and what Ian likes to call hipsters.
His expensive watches – the variety that are worth a small four-door sedan – are in a clear glass case with a lock. All of his shoes are neatly arranged in a nice neat row. He doesn’t wear many colognes but the few bottles he chooses from are also in a neat row.
A mannequin, I’m assuming is custom-made to Ian’s height and weight, is in front of a full-length mirror. The closet is air-conditioned and well ventilated. A small fire extinguisher in a nearby corner for reasons, I’m assuming, safety.
Then there’s the curtain.
I honestly never paid that curtain any mind. It’s not like I go into bae’s closet that often or even at all. It’s probably why his closet always look so nice and neat and mine looks like a clothes explosion happened in just that room (the maid is a doll and cleans it up for me once a week).
I swallow my pride, dust my shoulders off a la Jay-Z, and waltz right over to those curtains. I hesitate before I open them. What’s really behind there? The souls of other virgins? Jimmy Hoffa? White people giving a fuck about black issues?
I take a deep breath and slowly open the curtains only to find locked French doors. The room is so dark behind the doors, I honestly can’t see anything. I try to open the door and it’s locked. I remember I have the key with me and I don’t even hesitate trying to unlock it.
It works.
I gulped. I was lowkey hoping the door wouldn’t work and I would just be shit out of luck until Sir came home. But it perfectly works and now there’s only air and opportunity between me and the door.
I slowly open the door and I feel a gush of air towards me. The room is surprisingly cold and I wonder why that is. In fact, I think it’s actually the coldest room in the entire house. Goosebumps from both the coldness and nervousness appear along my arms. I search the walls for a light switch and quickly find it.
Once the soft light comes on, I’m floored.
I stepped into another closet within this one. It’s more like a sex chamber. Most couples have a naughty drawer but Ian has a freakin’ naughty closet. It’s a sex toy store within its own.
My legs seem to move on their own volition as I slowly walk around the room. The carpet in this room is softer than the other rooms. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, I guess, to somehow to distract from Sodom & Gomorrah I just entered.
I see restraints in handcuffs, rope, ankle cuffs, and spreader bars. I see floggers, whips, paddles, and crops. I see some extreme shit like hoods, butt plugs, and I think those are chastity belts?
I see numerous toys like different sized dildos, vibrators, and my old friend, the Hitachi. Blindfolds and scarves appear in different colors in another section. A sex swing with restraints casually hangs from the ceiling in a nearby corner.
Finally, in the center of the room, is a long massage table. It’s bolted onto the floor and I run my fingers lightly over the table. Dare I say, the leather is the same quality of a Bentley, if not better.
The room is giving me weird vibes. I feel it’s part seedy, run-down motel on the wrong side of town and I feel it’s a luxurious room at a five-star hotel. All of the sex toys and implements look like they’re of the best and finest quality, despite how they’ll be used.
I thought I would be scared. I thought I would see everything and run far away from Ian and his freak-nastiness. I thought I would be horrified and questioned who in the hell is my fiancée.
Instead, I’m aroused to the point of no return. I want to try everything. I want Sir to do what He wants with my body anytime He wants it. I want to be bound and gagged. I want to be fucked until I have to say red. I want to do little tasks for Him…
Shit! I have a task to do!
I find a notepad and pen and quickly begin to think about what I’m grateful for. There are so many things yet I only need to write down one for today. It’s a task harder than I thought it would be, yet I’m eager to do.
Here goes nothing.
Sir,
I’m grateful to trust someone who is allowing me explore my sexuality on my terms.
It doesn’t sound like a big deal and I’m sure to most women it’s not. But it’s a big deal to me. From the very beginning, Ian supported and encouraged my dreams. Even though I felt he cock-blocked me at every opportunity he had, I realized it was part of a Master plan.
He wanted to prepare me to be his wife.
I knew there was more to him than just Bentleys and bling. I knew deep down, he was a great guy who truly cared about the world and wanted to make a difference. I also knew he put up a public persona because the real him, no one wanted to know or understand.
Now Sir wanted me to explore more about His life with me. Bananas is the only word that comes to mind.
“Angel,” Sir’s voice startles me and I turn around to find Him at the doorway looking in. He’s still dressed in the business casual suit from before and I feel every fiber of my willpower fly out the fucking window as my legs magically open.
Sir’s casually leaning against the doorway and holding a tumbler of brown liquid. I have a feeling I might be the one who would need that liquid courage. “You found it.”