Make interpersonal relationship with my friend – 6

“Make interpersonal relationship with my friend” Part-6 Continues….

The weeks following our return from a Las Vegas trade show were busy with my move into Daisy’s house. It was a moment of both relief and excitement when I finally carried the last box of stuff out of my old apartment, for I was filled with anticipation of the new life ahead of me.

I was confident living with Daisy would work out great, but I had been a little apprehensive about returning to the office where she and I both worked; I wondered how different our professional lives would feel since my confession to her in Vegas that I dreamed of submitting to a woman who derive sexual pleasure from using and abusing a man, and her admission to me in return that she had long fantasized about doing that very thing.

The three days we spent in Vegas felt like a dream, for we not only opened up our darkest secrets to each other but acted on them as well. By day we worked our company booth at the Convention Center, and in the evenings we explored our mutual fantasies in the safety of our hotel rooms. Daicy gradually became bolder in her use of me as she grew more assured that I welcomed it, and by our last night in Vegas she was happily doing all of the unspeakable things to me that I craved. And more.

Well, I needn’t have worried about our return to the office, for we were both professionals and our working relationship immediately returned to what it was before. The only thing new was the way we would occasionally catch each other’s eye and she would give me that crooked grin that I liked so much. I would smile back and feel a little electrical charge at the shared knowledge that passed between us.

Daicy did not at all fit the image many people might have of a domme, but instead fit more into that “girl next door” stereotype with her freckles, strawberry blonde hair and warm personality.

We shared a complete lack of interest in the black leather and spikes you so often see in BDSM-themed erotica, and the theatrics of dominants insulting their subs in anger did nothing for us either. The most erotic thing for us was to just be the people we really were, in love with each other and simply accepting the fact that she was turned on by dominating me and I was turned on by letting her.

Sometimes in a meeting I would look at her as she was speaking before the room and recall how this poised and conservatively dressed young woman took so much pleasure in whipping me to tears and forcing me to service her most intimate places; before I knew it, I’d have a huge erection, and I’d have to quickly switch my thoughts to something like baseball before I was called upon to stand up and speak.

We had frequent sex during those first weeks of living together but it was purely vanilla, gentle and loving, which came very naturally out of our deep affection for each other. Neither of us had an interest in a 24/7 D/s lifestyle, but we both knew that more “special” times were ahead of us when we were both in the right mood to explore those desires.

One Saturday when Daisy had to go into the office to finish up an important report I decided to do a little prep work for when that time came. Juicy’s ex-husband had built a soundproof den in the basement which was the obvious location for what I had in mind, and I had recently visited a hardware store to pick up the supplies I’d need.

The room had very sturdy overhead wooden beams which were ideal for my plans. I got up on the small step ladder I had brought down from upstairs and drilled two holes about four feet apart in the middle of the center beam, then I installed a large chrome steel screw eye in each. I attached short lengths of chain to the screw eyes, and the dangling chains with quick links were now ready to be clipped onto wrist cuffs.

These would just look like sturdy plant hangers to the casual observer; less innocuous would be the screw eyes I mounted in the baseboards on each side of the room, but these could easily be concealed until needed. I had additional lengths of chain on hand, already measured to the right length, with quick links ready to clip onto ankle cuffs. I attached them, coiled them up on the floor, and hid each of them with a small accent cabinet and a potted plant.

I was mindful of the need for adequate but easily accessible camouflage because I knew that Sarah, Daisy’s older sister, would be visiting us the following weekend. It was also only a matter of time before our parents came by as well, not to mention our friends and professional acquaintances. I had already brought our “toy box” down from the bedroom and left it in a corner of the room; it would eventually have to be hidden in the closet, but I was hoping we’d be using it tonight.

When I was finished I stood there admiring my work when Daicy texted me, saying she was having a hard time finishing up her report and asking if I’d mind getting dinner started. Of course not, I replied, and after putting away the stepladder and my tools I turned off the lights and went up to the kitchen to prepare the roast chicken we planned on having that night.

After seasoning it and putting it in a pan with some fingerling potatoes I slipped it into the oven and put together a nice garden salad. I always enjoyed cooking, but this time it was accompanied by a bit of an edge thinking about what I had done in the basement and wondering when it might be first used.

Daicy arrived home about an hour later, good timing as dinner was just about ready. “Jeez,” she said as she walked into the kitchen, “that was painful, nobody bothered getting me the data I asked for, so I had to pull it all myself. Not my idea of how to spend a Saturday.”

“Well,” I said, “dinner’s ready, and I predict your Saturday night will be better than your day.”

“Mmm, it smells good, Johnson, I think it’s better already.”

Dinner was accompanied by some good white wine, and we settled into the living room for a second glass each. “Feeling better now?” I asked.

“Lots better, but I’m still frustrated I couldn’t get any help with that report,” she said.

I paused for a few seconds and then took her hand in mine. “Daicy,” I asked her, “do you feel like maybe working off some of that frustration?”

She looked at me and, quickly understanding what I was suggesting, broke into that crooked grin and squeezed my hand. “You know what, you read my mind… I was actually thinking of that driving home and… it started making me wet,” she said, blushing slightly. “It’s been a while… I take it you’re in the mood to be, um, worked on?”

Instead of answering, I moved her hand to my crotch, so she could feel the swelling under my jeans.

“You are ready, aren’t you,” she said with a smile. “I’d like that johnson. Maybe we should adjourn to the downstairs den.”

Make interpersonal relationship with my friend – 6 will continue on the next page