A meeting in a dark room – a stranger who knew my needs

I didn't know her name, only her nickname: Ms_Obsidian. She was direct, composed, and in every message – damn precise. No cheap domination, no games. Clear rules. Clear questions. What do you want? How far can you open up? Do you know what submission is, not as a weakness, but as a choice?

I knew what I wanted. A place where I wouldn't have to lead. Where I could relinquish responsibility. In a safe space. Consciously. She suggested a dark room. A neutral space. Full control. One evening. No names, no faces. Just trust. And the body. I agreed.

The room was exactly as she described it—matte, soundproof, no sharp corners. Soft lighting, barely visible. A space that didn't require sight. Only presence.

In the middle stood a low, wide mattress, and against the wall was a table with a velvet bag. I un-dressed as instructed and sat in silence, my naked skin trembling from the air, not from the cold – from anticipation.

I heard footsteps. Confident, steady. The quiet closing of a door.

She didn't say a word. I stood without looking up. I knew she was watching. I felt her presence, thick as smoke.

She stopped behind me. Her hand touched my neck—cool, precise. She ran her fingernail down my spine until I tensed all my muscles. Then she took out a thin blindfold and covered my eyes.

- Leave words behind. Speak with your body. - she whispered.

Her voice was like velvet with a blade underneath. I obeyed.

She tied my wrists behind my back, gently but firmly. Then she pushed me to my knees. I felt the fabric beneath my knees bend softly. I felt my body become her tool. No questions. No expecta-tions.

She kissed my shoulder. Then my neck. She ran her tongue over my earlobe.

Her hands slid lower. She touched me between my legs—slowly, fully aware of what she was do-ing. I was already hard, ready, but she didn't speed up. A gentle slap on my buttock. Then another—harder and harder, building a rhythm. Each slap pushed the boundary. And each time... I felt safer.

- Breathe - she said. - You're mine. Only now.

She laid me on my back, still tied up. She sat on me—her body warm, smelling of skin and control. I felt the fabric of her underwear before she moved, slowly, sliding it off. I felt her slipperiness as she guided me into her, with the precision of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.

She slid me inside her slowly, fully seated. She didn't let me move. She moved at her own pace—short, controlled movements that brought me to the edge, then stopped. I felt her nails on my chest. Her breath on my face. I was all inside her. All hers. When she let me come, she didn't ask. She gave a sign—a tightening, one strong movement, and a word:

- Now.

I exploded beneath her, unable to utter a sound. My whole body was screaming. But my lips rema-ined silent. As she had instructed. When she untied my hands and removed the blindfold, she looked down at me.

Black eyes. Calm.

- You don't need to know my name. - she said. - But you know yourself a little better, don't you?

I nodded. I couldn't speak yet.

It was just one evening.

But every cell in my body remembered the stranger who knew my needs better than I did myself.