My second attempt at a marriage was coming to an end. The excitement was gone, and while she liked routine and familiarity, I had found our routine boring and lacking any degree of excitement, sexual or otherwise. Life was becoming shorter for me and as I rounded another milestone birthday I had decided to move on. There is always a great deal of excitement when you enter into relationship. The newness of a sexual relationship; the exploring; the discussion of things in common; and especially the discovery of those fantasies that you secretly share. One of my fantasies was to be tied up. Bondage and the feeling of complete surrender was not only a fantasy, but I had convinced myself that it was physically needed to be able to relax and unplug from my high stress work world. My only hold back was that I didn’t know if I could trust anyone enough to allow myself to be placed in that situation. My ex had always had an edge; that is what attracted me to her in the first place. But it was also a very competitive relationship and I never felt comfortable enough to discuss this fantasy, let alone place myself in such a position of vulnerability. While the thought of being in that position was incredibly exciting, and would often leave me wet with an inability to focus until I was able to exercise some form of relief, it remained unfulfilled. I had decided to take a vacation to clear my mind and put some distance between me and the house while she moved her remaining furniture and things. It was one of those goofy types of vacation planning that I ended up in London. I had gone to school there many years ago and thought a familiar landscape might ease me into my new reality. Besides my French and German were not up to snuff to tackle Paris or Berlin, and I did not want language to be a barrier in any way shape or form. Through an old school mate I had found a room near LSE, just off the Strand and began packing for the trip. I packed light as I wanted to get away as soon as I could and figured if I needed anything, London was the place to shop. The flight was uneventful and my Aeroplan points – some 135,000 of them – made the Air Canada fare even sweeter. The flight attendants in Business Class were as attentive as always and somehow cuter – both male and female – than I recalled. The late evening departure from Pearson put me on the ground around 8:30am. By the time I cleared Customs, the taxi ride through rush hour from Heathrow had put me at the flat mid-morning Friday. The key had been left with a neighbour and my host had left a note, the sister of a school mate, tellig me to make myself at home as she was sure I would be just a little jet-lagged. I paid the cabby, collected the key from Mrs. Perkins, a typical elderly English lady who invited me to tea should I be up to it later in the afternoon, and made my way to the apartment. I turned the key in the lock, and swung open the door to the face of my startled hostess. She was running late and scrambling to get off to work. “Welcome to London Jack”, she said. “Late night?” I queried? She blushed. “I will be home around 5 or so. Make yourself comfortable. Your room is just down the hall on the right and the bed is made up. I figured you may want to crash a bit. You must be tired. We will go out to the pub when I get home for dinner if that’s ok”? Karen worked for the Bank of England as an economist. Like my life, her's was also full of stress, and long hours. Karen’s words faded as she headed down the stairs to an awaiting cab. The family resemblance to her sister Ruth was obvious. Ruth and I had gone to school together and had become close along with her husband Bob many years ago. It was all I could do but stumble down the hall to find my room. As I passed the slightly open door to her room I caught a glimpse of some leather objects that did not quite register in my mind. I barely got undressed before I was fast asleep. I woke up long past the time for Mrs. Perkin’s kind invitation for tea. I picked the clothes up off the floor where I had dropped them on my “power dive” to the pillow 8 hours earlier. I heard Karen at the front of the flat and went to say hello, as well as find out when we were leaving for the pub. Karen was putting groceries and a variety of wines and whiskies away when I entered the kitchen. By all indications she had been talking to Ruth about my love of both. With the BRexit well behind the UK, the prosperity had reshaped the country and the variety of imported goods was broader than at any time in history. “Hi there”, she said. “We’ll nip out and grab a beer and something to eat if that’s ok with you”. “Good with me” I said. Karen went back to her room and grabbed her purse and a rather attractive black leather jacket. It completed the look – white silk blouse and leather pants. We made our way to “Shakespeare’s Head”, a popular pub not far from the flat. The time at dinner went by quickly. It was like we had known each other for years, instead of just meeting for the first time that day. It was a comfort level that I hadn’t expected. We made our way back to the flat. Karen asked if I wanted a nightcap – Almanac cognac and coffee. Sure I said. I mentioned that when her sister and I were working late, a little bit of alcohol actually seemed to bring clarity to whatever it was we were doing. Not to mention make the task more enjoyable. She could not find the Almanac.; one of the by-products of small flats. Sometimes storage becomes where there is space available. She thought it might be in her room and went to look. I heard a “crash” and went to see if I could help. She was quickly trying to collect a wide range of “paraphernalia” that had fallen from the closet onto the floor and bed. To say that my eyes widened would have been an understatement. There on the bed was a pile of handcuffs, straps, whips, and many other things I could only take a guess at. I tried to pretend I did not see anything as she quickly closed the bedroom door, but she could see from the expression on my face, that I had. Her face was also blush. We went back into the living room, her trailing me down the hall. The sight of what I had just seen and the memory from the morning was the only thing I could think of while we sipped our drinks. The conversation had become stilted and we both knew that there was an elephant in the room that had to be addressed. Maybe it was the hour, the drinks, or the jet lag, or just my brashness … or desire… I blurted out, “So you like “leather”? I added the biggest smile I could muster to the question. “Yes, I do, actually”, Karen replied, with a little redness returning to her face. “I have always been interested”, I quickly added. What then ensued was a very long discussion that lasted into the early hours. I told her about my failed marriage, the reasons and how I felt that life was getting too short. We said our good nights and went to our respective bedrooms with a promise to pick this up the next day. I went to give her an innocent kiss good night, but she pulled back. “That’s rather presumptuous!”, Karen quipped. “Sorry Karen, it was just meant to be an innocent “goodnight” kiss”. “Ok, I guess we will see about that tomorrow”, a sly smile coming to her face. I closed my door and climbed into bed. I fell asleep quickly exhausted from the travel, the drinking and the especially the discussion. I awoke to the smell of coffee. I went to get up, but I could not move. My hands were restrained in cuffs, as were my legs. I had had noticed the brass fixtures when I fell asleep the morning before, but thought they were just decoration. Now in light of the previous night’s discussion I realized their true purpose. Karen must have heard me pulling on my restraints and came into the room. “Good morning! How did you sleep? she cheerily said. “I know we had talked about some about some of this last night Karen, but I didn’t expect things to move so quickly.” “Well you should of thought about that before you tried to kiss me”. “That was rather cheeky, and you didn’t ask". Here I was in London, in a residence with someone I had met just 24 hours earlier, now handcuffed to a bed. And I was loving it. “What would you like to do today? I can play “tour guide” if you want?, she said sweetly. “I’d like that”, I said eagerly. She pulled off my bed covers. A pair of scissors appeared in her hand. She sat on the edge of the bed and deftly cut my boxers away with the scissors, fully exposing me to the cool air of the apartment. Something that was to be repeated more than once during my stay. If I was not hard before when I first discovered my predicament, I was now. She seemed amused at my state and asked, "Do you need to pee"? I told her that while it might be difficult with my hard-on, I really needed too despite the discomfort this might cause. To say she was prepared for this eventuality, would be an understatement. Tubes, a catheter, bowls and towels quickly appeared to accomplish the task. Relieved, literally, I quickly returned to a state of extreme hardness. So let's begin the tour she said.