She sidles up to that door.
The one he used to keep locked when first she started seeing him.
The one he was ashamed of what was behind.
"You'll think I'm not normal," he'd say. And change the subject
She's barefoot and in only a whisper of pink.
The filmy pink negligée she only wore when she was at her most submissive.
She tries the handle slowly. It gives.
Her heart pounds.
Inside there's strange, wonderful, terrible things.
Art on the walls that excites in a wrong, yet totally right, way.
Machines and devices that she can't even begin to recognise.
In the centre, where she sits. Where she belongs. A creaking piece of leather and steel.
She positions herself on it. Wiggles her hips to get it juuuuust right.
She pulls something over her eyes, making her blind to the world
Her fingers snake around where they are meant to go, gripping it. She's all but shivering with excitement as she switches it on.
"LOAD EXISTING PILOT? Y/N"
Dedicated to the Reddit board r/relationship_advice, for thinking everything is a red flag