Switch - a full length bdsm erotic novel by Clarice Clique Page A

disappointed. Empty and disappointed . Unfortunately, there was nothing confusing about those words.
    He said he liked having cigarettes put out on him and something about masturbating in front of mistresses.
    I paused for a moment, then flicked to his profile. I could only see his photo when I added him to my contacts, but there was nothing obscene or private about it. He was wearing a shirt and tie with jeans, sitting on a nondescript bench with nondescript countryside in the background. He was smiling, but it was the kind of smile you gave when you were posing for some work photo and someone had told you to look relaxed and happy. He was of slim build, very white, nothing remarkable about him. Examining the photo, I thought that maybe his nose was slightly too big, or slightly too angular for his oval face, but it was a small thing. He was average-looking, non-threatening, perhaps approachable, perhaps friendly.
    I imagined him naked in front of me, me pressing a cigarette into the pale flesh of his cock. Could I do that? Did I want to do that?
    No. No.
    My lover occasionally smoked; outside his back door, leaning against the wall, staring up at the night sky (it always seemed to be late at night when he reached to the back of the pasta cupboard to retrieve his emergency box).
    ‘Forgive me,’ he’d said. ‘It’s a filthy habit.’
    ‘I like filthy things,’ I’d said, but felt secretly ashamed of how attractive and sexual I found him with the cigarette between his lips and the way he breathed out thin curls of smoke into the cold night air.
    My lover had never pressed the fiery end into my skin, though, and the thought of doing it had somehow never crossed my mind until now. He’d melted candles and let the wax drop onto the bare skin of my stomach. He’d cut off a lock of my hair and burnt it in the bathroom sink.
    I’d once read an erotic novel with branding in it and been excited, titillated, and relieved that the burning flesh was held safely within the pages of a book.
    I focused back on slavetothee. His tag was “willing to please and serve to your demands”.
    Willing?
    My whole being, every nerve ending, every skin cell, every muscle fibre, yearned to be kneeling before my lover again.
    Willing. This wasn’t about love. I wasn’t even sure it was about passion. This site was about trying, with the least possible hassle, to find someone who would fulfil your base sexual needs and not judge you.
    That was how it worked, wasn’t it? If watersports was your thing, you didn’t need to have the courage to approach girls in the club; then, after many dates and lots of expensive presents and less expensive compliments, summon the bravery to confess that what you wanted most in the world, more than anything else she could ever do for you, was to have her squat over you and let her warm piss stream down on your face. All you had to do was log on to a site like this one, find someone who had it in their profile, and type out a few exploratory chats in the comfort and safety of your own room.
    slavetothee’s next line was “obedient, looking to worship a strict mistress who demands obedience”.
    Lots of emphasis on obedience. Wasn’t that assumed in a sub/dom relationship, though, or what was the point? Although I supposed there were those bratty types who constantly liked to fight and be reined in.
    There was nothing else that interesting in his profile; the thing that stood out was how uninteresting it was. No drugs, no tattoos, no piercings, clean shaven. He lived about 50 miles away, not too far. But he was looking for erotic mail or chat. That could suit me. No meetings. No puppy eyes begging me to love him. I could tell my lover I’d had new experiences without actually having new experiences. No mess. No hurt.
    But how did I go about this?
    No thinking.
    I typed a quick reply telling him to give me his mobile number, then shut the computer off and went to see if there was any reality show on telly