We spent my break talking about my time in Europe. I don't know why I trusted him, but I opened up when the conversation turned to fetishes and our experiences thus far in the lifestyle. By the time he left, he'd convinced me to meet up with him the following Saturday at the club for lunch. He called it a munch, a meeting and meal with other people who had similar sexual interests. I was hesitant, but he promised he would be there. And I could leave at any time.
I was nervous about returning to the scene of the crime. About conversing with others who had kinky predilections. Whenever I'd been to the club with Jimmy, we hadn't talked to other people. I had never told anyone else besides the police and Malcolm about what we liked to do behind closed doors.
To my surprise, everyone was very pleasant. And except for a couple of initial questions of how I was doing—the knowledge of bad incidents seemed to stick around for awhile in that world—Jimmy's tirade was quickly lost to other kinky topics. By the end of the two hour session, I'd completely relaxed.
The more I was around him, the more comfortable I felt with Malcolm, too. I also felt protected. There was no chemistry between us. Absolutely none at all. Which was surprising because he was incredibly easy on the eyes. And it wasn't hard to miss the glances and stares from other women when I was with him. But he was more like an older sibling. And the feeling seemed mutual. Plus he had that redheaded gal I'd seen him with at the club and then at the hospital, although she didn't attend the munches.
After going to half-a-dozen meetings—all with Malcolm by my side—I learned that I shouldn't shun the lifestyle because of one bad experience. I just had to be more cautious going forward. To set some ground rules. Like learning everything I could about the different roles and determining exactly which one I was most comfortable with...as well as defining any hard limits.
I chose right then and there to suppress my masochistic desires until I was absolutely certain that they wouldn't be used against me. But it shouldn't be an issue. I was in no hurry to get into another relationship, there was no one at the munches that I was even remotely attracted to, and neither of my jobs gave an opportunity to meet someone in that respect.
The attendance at the munches was usually thirty to forty people. From the conversations there, I gathered that they were regular patrons of the club who were weren't in serious relationships or were, for the most part, unpartnered. The latter of which also included not only myself but also Malcolm, as I found out.
He offered me a proposition as he drove me home from a meeting one day. He asked if I would be a demonstration model for the weekend dungeon parties he held in his own home. Nothing sexual. He thought it would be a good opportunity for me to get back into the scene without actually being committed to someone. When I questioned him about his own partner and why she didn't come to the munches, he just said that it hadn't worked out between them. I didn't press him, swallowed any lingering fears, and accepted his invitation.
After almost nine months, I grew used to working at Starbucks and the occasional modeling gig during the week. I stayed home on Friday nights to unwind with my roommates. Then there were munches on Saturday afternoons in the city and dungeon parties at night. Since I didn't have a car, Malcolm would drive me to his house in Wheaton after the munches and bring me back to the city on Sunday mornings. He said it made him feel good to know at least one of his spare bedrooms was finally getting used. When the other guests dispersed to have play time in the private rooms he had fashioned in his basement, Malcolm and I retired to his den upstairs to chat or watch movies.
On most occasions, I demonstrated rope-bondage techniques. Or rather, they were demonstrated on me. Malcolm had revealed that it was his favorite fetish early in our friendship. When I wasn't being his kinky model, I just helped host.
Once, I allowed him to use a variety of implements to demonstrate spanking, cropping, and flogging. He'd left the decision up to me, and I had considered it for two weeks before agreeing. Malcolm maintained that I wasn't abnormal for having masochistic desires. I just needed to experience them within my own boundaries. And with someone I trusted.
I made it through the session without even wanting to use a safe word. And I got more than just a little aroused. I was afraid to tell him that he didn't have to treat me so delicately—that he had rekindled a fire buried within me—but I let it spill during our aftercare time following the session.
CHAPTER THREE
He admitted that he was intentionally being gentle with me, coaxing me back into the world he knew I longed to be in. Too much too soon would damage the work he'd done with helping me between the munches and his parties. All the relaxation techniques he'd tried with me to make sure I was comfortable for his demos would be worthless if I felt I couldn't handle them or have the power to stop them at will.
Life was good again. I didn't know where it was going, but it was good. And that was enough for me.
One particular weekend, Malcolm couldn't join me for the munch and had cancelled his Saturday night party. I was confident enough to attend the
