(This is the continuation of "What can you tell from a pocket?")

All she could say was "WOW". How did he know? She was processing the room, the temperature, the domineering feeling of the space, not even thinking about the person who was sitting next to her. How did he know? She stood up, felt the walls, felt the coolness on her cheek and breast... absorbed it like a friend.

She realized how silly that must look. Hugging a wall. When she glanced back at Mr. Storm she was blushing and saw his calm demeanor. Almost like he was hugging her with his eyes. He stood up to look at her and she saw a part of his soul. She had never realized that he towered over her. He was normally in his car at the dry cleaning drive through. She felt vulnerable, but safe. Just another reality.

When he spoke, the tone was different. It wasn't the flirtatious or the mind flexing chat they had over dinner. He was telling her that her response was quite exciting and that she was welcome to stay in the room as long she pleased. He would close the door and not lock it, just let her get familiar with the surroundings. With that, she was left alone. The click not as heavy as it had been when he first closed it.

She scanned the room. She wasn't in danger (she thought). The trunk was locked but she still put her hands on it's leather surface. All walls were cold, solid. The bed was utilitarian. Not even an indication which side the head belonged. She wanted to twirl with her arms extended, like a commercial for a theme park. This is where she wanted to be!!!!

Not wanting to leave, but with little furniture, less to explore, she sat on the bed, then laid down, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts were meandering. What does this mean? How did he know? Am I in danger?

Without hesitation she rolled over on her stomach and started masturbating. Fully clothed, the seam of her jeans a helpful part in the pressure against her clit. When her eyes were open she had a view of the metal tube that made the bed frame. Her concentration was on the fact she was in a possibly locked room, by a man that was intellectually intriguing, kind and had somehow constructed her greatest fantasy. It was not hard for her fingers to get a rhythm and climax, wet.

As she regrouped, fingers still in the wetness seeping through, she was staring again at the metal... realizing it's potential in the future. Something to be chained/tied to. Something that could hold her down. Her fingers started again, rubbing the already wet cunt, but expanding the possibilities with her imagination.

When her eyes opened and mind stopped "buzzing", she rolled over again. A bit disheveled but relaxed and now worried about studying and getting home. It was common when her mind had relaxed with orgasm that the real life worries and issues stepped right up and were top priority. She scanned the room thinking if she left anything there, opened the door and left. She collected her back pack with study material and purse and made the short walk home.

It was difficult for her to study over the weekend, but she did her best. Her mind kept sidetracking to dungeon activities. There was no conversation between when she left the room and left the house. She had so many questions and fantasies. Now that the room of her dreams was built... how did she proceed? The time would tell.

Mr. Storm usually dropped his customer preferred nylon bag off on Tuesdays with his dress pants, shirts and anything else from the previous week. Luckily, because of nerves, she was not around at the drop off, but did open up the orange bag to process it. It was typical except for the envelope in the bottom. It was sealed and felt bulky.

Her heart was racing. She entered all the clothes in to the computer, tagged them and took her break with the envelope in her apron.

As she was sitting in the sun, on the curb along the busy high way, she unfolded the paper and a tarnished silver bracelet fell into her lap. The note read:

"I hope this finds it's way to my favorite employee of the dry cleaner.
We had a moment last week and your celebration with me over my test results toward promotion was much appreciated. Please consider another block of time with me when I pick up my dry cleaning on Thursday. If you have University or studying obligations, I understand. Your time in the room and if that is a future endeavor with me would be a great topic to talk about! The video of your exploration and subsequent orgasm have been most enjoyable to replay. You are truly a well built, attractive woman. Please consider that wearing the bracelet on Thursday when I pick up my order is a sign you would like to return to my room. I will drive you to my place, we will discuss things if that is your decision.
-Mr. Storm"

She could not breathe. She could not hold back the extreme gushing/scent from her vagina.

The tarnished bracelet made it from the envelope, to her apron, to pocket, to fingering the braclet to wrapped around her hand while she slept. She had so many questions that she couldn't google at the university library, or at work. She had heard of "collaring", but was unsure if the bracelet was that. The commitment wearing the bracelet only extended for Thursday and nothing else. She was sure Thursday could not come fast enough!

Future activities for that night were not even thought of. She didn't want to be disappointed or get too excited.

When the "ding" of Mr. Storms car came, she tried not to act too giddy, but, she did get a flutter in her nerves, adjust the silver bracelet and open the sliding door. The smile they shared was electric. They proceeded as if it was an average exchange. Even down to her putting the excess change in her apron. Her attempts to exaggerate the bracelet were noted by him, and he found it hard not to grin, but very, very good. He left normally, not out of the ordinary.

At closing time, the "ding" sounded. Reluctant to show her face to a customer after hours and have to redo all the end of day rituals was on her mind, but the chance it was Mr. Storm was too inviting. To her surprise it was him. Grinning and waving. The boy-like exuberance showing again.

She was more nervous. Not the "ride home" like last time. It was more foreplay. Anticipation.

The conversation was forced, weather and school as generic topics. Not the jubilant, free flowing moments of last week. He was grinning on the inside, she was not lucky enough to have that self control. Beaming is a word, and not even with any clue to what laid ahead.

They arrived at his house. He opened her door and helped her out as before. This time it seemed more formal, almost like they were going to prom. There was no lead up, no pizza and wine. This was about the room and what it was going to be used for.